The Good Fight
by T. Whittsen
Summary: After the death of a college student, the boys head south and find more than they expected. Connections to the yellow-eyed demon, a knowledgeable church girl with premonitions and a knack for finding trouble, and a very different path to destiny. Dean/OC
1. 1x1, I: The Dead Guy

**Disclaimer:**I do not own any recognizable characters, storylines, places, songs, or anything else referenced in this story. However, the fictional town of Antioch and its inhabitants belong to me.

**Summary: **Sam and Dean Winchester head to a small town in Alabama to investigate the mysterious death of a college student. But when they arrive, they find a lot more than they expected. Connections to the yellow-eyed demon, a knowledgeable church girl with premonitions, acting skills, slight OCD, and a knack for finding trouble, and a very different path to their ultimate destiny. Features Dean/OC relationship.

**Timeframe: **Late season two. Just after "What Is and What Should Never Be." It's basically a retelling/reworking of the show from there out. Instead of ending up in Cold Oak, South Dakota, for Azazel's psychic children showdown ("All Hell Breaks Loose, Part One"), Sam and Dean look into a potential case in Alabama, sending them down a different path.

**Author's Note: **I know it's kinda lame, but I'm writing _The Good Fight_ in the style of episodes with commercial breaks. Each "episode" is five chapters long, and they'll be posted collectively under the series title. "Don't Fear the Reaper" is the first. I have lots of ideas for future stories, and I will certainly write and upload them if someone will read them! I'd really appreciate any feedback you guys can offer. Thanks!

* * *

"**Don't Fear the Reaper"**

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* * *

  
**

_Shadow Lodge College Apartments,_

_Antioch, Alabama._

_Three Days Ago._

_KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!_

"Trevor! Open up, man!" Blake Cavender shouted above the gushing rain. He knocked on the closed oak door again. Rang the doorbell for a second time. "Anybody home?"

A frown settled across his chubby bearded face at the lack of response. He tightened his grip on the handle of his umbrella and glanced over his shoulder at the parking lot where his friend's old hatchback sat. The silver Chevette had been parked there for days, untouched by its owner.

Blake gnawed on his lip as he turned back around to face the door. A growing pile of unread newspapers had collected in front of it.

He raised himself onto the tips of his red Chuck Taylor All Stars and peered through the glass at the top of the door. A light was on inside the apartment, just as it had been for nearly a week.

Plagued with concern for his classmate and neighbor, Blake reached for the doorknob and twisted it.

It was locked.

He sighed. "Crap, Trevor," he mumbled to himself, digging into the left pocket of his Volcom jeans. He removed a key ring that held a single brass key, a key given to him in case of an emergency. He could be wrong, but this sure felt like one. Blake inserted the key into the dead bolt. He heard the lock give way as he turned it.

He pushed the door open. "Hey. You here, man?" With one foot in Trevor Bradley's foyer and the other on the doorstep, Blake shook his umbrella furiously as he closed it, sending raindrops flying in a hundred different directions. He leaned the thing against the interior wall and continued across the threshold.

Thunder growled overhead.

"It's Blake from next door," he called out, slowly making his way into the apartment. "You alright? I haven't seen you in class for like a week." The lamp was on in the next room over, the living room. He could see its light from where he stood. "I haven't seen you _anywhere_ all week."

He gulped as he approached the doorway to the lamp-lit living room.

When he got there, he gasped.

Blood littered the sand-colored berber carpet; there were splatters in front of the television, small droplets next to the sofa. And in the center of the room, the crimson fluid was carefully arranged to form a large, intricately-detailed occult symbol- a wide hexagram, with complex figures drawn at the tip of each point, all placed inside a circle surrounded by a bigger circle.

A few feet away from the symbol lay the body of Trevor Bradley.


	2. 1x1, II: The Meeting

_New Hope Community Church,_

_Antioch, Alabama._

_Now._

The heels of Jennifer Bane's black patent pumps clacked loudly against the wet pavement as she dashed across the parking lot of New Hope Community Church, trying to stay as dry as possible. The early morning drizzle seemed to have turned into a downpour the exact moment she had stepped out of her Honda Accord. The rain was coming down around her so heavily now she could barely see where she was going.

Jennifer was halfway to the door of the church when a black 1967 Chevy Impala swerved into the empty parking space she was attempting to cross.

To avoid being flattened by the classic automobile, she was forced to jump out of the way and into a puddle as the driver slammed on the brakes with a squeal. Jennifer somehow managed to keep her balance, and undeterred, she continued across the parking lot.

Finally, she reached the front door, and Lamar Draper, a respected older gentleman of the congregation, ushered her inside.

"Come in outta that rain, dear," Lamar told her, tearing off a handful of paper towels from the roll he was holding. "You might need these to dry yourself off a bit." He held the towels out to her, and she gratefully took them. "You were nearly road kill just then. You alright?"

"Oh, yes, sir," she said with a smile. "I'm fine."

Thunder bellowed from above. The tile floor quivered beneath their feet, and the small wooden cross mounted on the wall behind Lamar wobbled on its nail. He reached up to steady it. "Goodness. These thunderstorms just won't go away will they? With all this rain we've been gettin' the past couple of weeks, we could float Noah's ark."

"I wouldn't be surprised if we could."

Lamar patted her on the back and smiled, just like he did every time they spoke. "Now be careful, dear, the floor's wet."

"Thank you." She took his advice and cautiously moved across the narthex, wringing the rainwater out of her brown ringlets with a paper towel. She relaxed a little as she crossed the threshold to the carpeted sanctuary.

The church still smelled of flowers, Jennifer noticed. An overwhelming array of flora had covered the altar the day before. Sprays of white roses, wreaths of multicolored carnations and chrysanthemums, baskets of purple lilies and striking yellow gladioli, all placed there in memory of Trevor Bradley, a twenty-three-year-old senior at the local university. A new church member. A guy liked by anyone who knew him. He had died unexpectedly days earlier, and it had been a devastating loss to the community.

Jennifer followed the nave to a side aisle where she seated herself on an empty pew, a pew directly across from the one Trevor Bradley had occupied just last Sunday.

She decided to distract herself from the sad thought by dusting the rain droplets from her knee-length black dress. But she soon realized the attempt was pointless. The droplets were quickly drying and disappearing within the black chiffon. Jennifer smoothed her skirt, straightened her posture, and discreetly glanced about the sanctuary as people poured through the doors.

She knew every individual of the rapidly-growing crowd by name. She had been a member of New Hope for all of her twenty-two years, and during the last ten of them, she had become very involved in church functions. Everyone in the crowd knew Jennifer, too.

The side door opened, making way for a stream of Bible-toters.

"Good mornin', Jennifer," Donnie Carmichael greeted her with his customary smile. He was a round-faced, glasses-wearing, sanguine man, a church deacon who had sat on the front row for fifty years.

"Hello," she replied, returning his smile.

His wife Glenda followed him and acknowledged Jennifer as well. Behind Glenda came George and Cindy Cheetwood, then Tom and Elaine Hartman, and after them, Joseph and Maryann Boid. Jennifer spoke to each of them as they passed by.

The side door closed for a moment. Jennifer kept her eyes on it, waiting to see which faithful member would emerge next.

She halfway expected Trevor Bradley to come in as he had every Sunday morning for the past few months- quietly, with his eyes on the floor and his new leather King James Version tucked under his left arm. Upon passing her pew, he would turn to her, smile shyly, and give her a soft "Hey there, Jennifer."

Her heart sank as she realized she would never again see Trevor's smile nor hear his greeting.

The doorknob turned, and the side door pushed open, revealing two young men Jennifer had never seen before. Two very handsome young men, looking much like strangers in an unfamiliar place.

Thunder shook the building once more.

* * *

"What now, smartass?" Dean Winchester asked his younger yet much taller brother as they came into the sanctuary. They stopped at the back of the room and looked around, confused.

"Dean!" Sam Winchester scolded him, appalled that his brother felt no conviction after swearing in church.

"Oh, come on. You know we look as out of place as we feel," Dean complained, studying the church-goers in their dressy attire. He looked down at his own layered shirts, dark washed jeans, and steel-toed boots. Sam's clothing was no fancier. "We're totally underdressed."

"Well, I didn't think we'd end up in a church service."

"No one did. And just why are we in one again?"

"We're taking that Blake Cavender guy's advice," Sam said. "He said Trevor spent most of his time hanging out at church, so we're gonna talk to the people who supposedly knew him best."

"Yeah, well, there's gotta be a better way to do that."

"Can you think of one?" Sam snapped.

"…Not at the moment, no."

"Okay. Then just to try to fit in."

"_You_ won't have any problem with that," Dean sneered.

Sam ignored the insult. "Just talk to the church members and see what they know about Trevor Bradley."

"Alright, Mr. Know-It-All. Who do you suggest we talk to first?"

Sam's eyes scanned the sanctuary full of people. "I don't know."

Dean studied the place as well. He suddenly grinned. "Well. I think I found a good place to start."

"Where?"

Dean cocked his head toward a pew filled with young ladies.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Knock it off, would you? This is a house of worship."

"I know." Dean's grin grew wider as he led the way down the aisle. Sam reluctantly followed. Dean stopped at the end of a pew that held a shapely young brunette sitting alone. "Excuse me, miss, is anyone sitting here?"

The girl turned around to face them. She smiled. "No." She scooted down a bit, making room for them. "Go ahead."

Dean recognized her features immediately. "You're the chick I almost bagged in the parking lot." He slid onto the pew and planted himself beside her. "Sorry about that."

"It's alright," she said. "Nice car, by the way."

Pleasantly surprised by the compliment, Dean beamed. "Thank you. I'm Dean. This is my brother, Sam." Sam waved. "We're new in town, and we're, well, you know." His smile widened. "We're just looking for that right place of worship."

"Well, it's nice to meet you. I'm Jennifer," she said politely, extending her hand to them.

"Nice to meet you too," Sam smiled.

Jennifer smiled back. "You just moved here?"

"Just passing through, actually," Dean said. "And you know how it is. We just can't go one week without our Sunday morning dose of the Lord. So we thought we'd try this place today, see how the Holy Spirit moves-"

Sam elbowed his brother and interrupted him. "So, Jennifer, are you a member here?"

The thrusting of Sam's elbow into Dean's side had been discreet but perceived by Jennifer. She hesitated before responding. "Yeah." She glanced from brother to brother distrustfully. "I've come here all my life."

Dean whistled. "Wow." He turned to his brother and muttered, "She's all yours'."

"That's very admirable," Sam told her politely. He glared at Dean. "You must be happy here."

A bit suspicious, she continued to study them. "Mm-hmm."

"I suppose you knew Trevor Bradley," Dean said.

She nodded. "He was really active in our college and career ministry."

"We read about his death in the paper," Dean continued. "Terrible. He must have had a lot of health problems."

"No." Jennifer frowned. "None that I knew of. He always seemed very healthy. In fact, he was kind of a health freak. He played sports. He worked out all the time."

"Do you know what happened to him?" Sam inquired.

She shook her head. "No one will really say."

"Did he have any family here?" Dean questioned her.

"No. And not anywhere else, either, as far as I know. He transferred here from South Carolina, I think, to go to Hamilton State. They gave him a full scholarship. He made like a thirty-one on the ACT."

"Wow," Sam commented, impressed.

"Yeah. He was a really smart guy. I had a pre-calculus class with him a couple of semesters ago, and he breezed right through it."

"So you go to Hamilton State University too?"

"Yep. I'm a senior. I graduate next week."

Sam smiled. "Congratulations."

"Thanks." Jennifer sighed. "Trevor would have graduated-"

"Good morning, everyone," the music minister cut in from the stage. "Welcome to New Hope." Jennifer shrugged and turned her attention to the front of the church. "It's a good day to be in the Lord's house, isn't it? Let's all stand together as we sing praises to the Heavenly Father!"

Everyone rose to their feet.

Except Dean.

He looked at Sam, who motioned for him to stand. Dean sighed and got up. Once the music began, he whispered, "How about we go check out Trevor's apartment?"

"Sure. After this is over," Sam said softly.

"What?"

"Just sing, okay? Don't blow our cover."

Dean shoved his hands into his pants pockets and rolled his eyes once more.

* * *

When the worship service was over, Jennifer Bane stopped by her best friend's home to give her a ride to Mona's Pies, a locally-owned pizza parlor situated in downtown Antioch. Like most Sundays after church, Jennifer and Alanna Parkhurst had decided to go out for lunch together.

Jennifer inched her maroon Accord along Harrison Road and stayed well below forty-five miles per hour. The speed limit was fifty, and Alanna wondered why her friend was dragging around. Driving the speed limit was out of character for Jennifer; her driving below it was unheard of. For the first time in her life, Alanna actually wished she would hurry it up.

Instead, Jennifer dropped it down to thirty.

"Why are you going so slow?" Alanna eventually blurted out.

Jennifer did not respond.

Alanna craned her neck and peered out the windshield, assuming there was something ahead of them she had missed. A stopped vehicle or an accident, perhaps. "What is it?" There was nothing but open road.

Without warning, Jennifer flicked on the left turn signal and whipped the car onto Connell Lane.

"Uh, Mona's is _that _way," Alanna said, pointing out her window. The strange behavior of her friend was beginning to disturb her.

"I know," Jennifer sighed.

"Well…" Alanna started. "What are we doing? Is something wrong?"

She drove the car along the apartment-lined street. "I don't know." Jennifer slowed the car to a stop outside Shadow Lodge College Apartments, unit B. She shifted into park, cut off the engine, and stared at the building. "This was Trevor Bradley's apartment."

Alanna was unsure of what to say, so she said nothing. She looked at her friend and was startled by the odd trace of sadness she saw in her steely blue eyes. She knew Trevor's death had upset her, just as it had everyone who had known him, but she also knew that Jennifer and Trevor were only acquaintances. Sure, the guy's death was terrible. But Jennifer barely knew him, and her present emotional state was strange. "What's wrong?"

Jennifer swallowed hard and kept her eyes on the apartment. "I'm not sure," she said quietly. "I've just got…a feeling."

Alanna drew in a deep breath. She knew about Jennifer's "feelings." To call them "premonitions" would be more accurate, but Jennifer argued that the word was too theatrical for what she experienced. Perhaps because the word "premonition" had all kinds of mystic connotations that Jennifer was not yet ready to deal with.

"What kind of feeling?" Alanna asked, worried about the answer.

"I just can't get Trevor out of my head. His death. I can't stop thinking about it. And the more I think about it…and the more everyone avoids talking about it…the more I know something isn't right. Something about it just feels…evil."

Alanna was quiet.

"My mom said she heard he died at home of 'natural causes.' What kind, no one seems to know." Jennifer paused. "Trevor was twenty-three years old and in perfect health, Alanna."

Silence.

"Gosh, I can't stand it anymore," Jennifer huffed. She unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for the door handle.

Alanna leaned forward and grabbed her arm. "Jen, what are you doing?"

"I don't know. But if I don't listen to this, this...voice inside me," Jennifer said, "it's gonna keep eating at me."

"But-"

"What if I was…drawn here, or whatever, for a reason?"

"Such as?"

"For good. For justice, even."

Alanna's eyebrows shot up. "Justice?"

"What if something else happened here?" Jennifer's jaw was trembling. "I've had this…feeling for days, maybe weeks, and it keeps getting stronger." She gazed into Alanna's hazel eyes. "You know my feelings are always right."

Yes. Alanna did know that. And it scared and amazed her at the same time.

Against her better judgment, Alanna removed her seatbelt, opened her car door, and followed her friend.

Neither of them noticed the '67 Chevy pulled to the curbside down the street.

* * *

Dean Winchester exited Trevor Bradley's spare-bedroom-turned-office and entered the master bedroom to find his younger brother leaning over the nightstand. "Find anything?" Dean asked him.

Sam glanced up. "Just another stopped clock and more demonic symbols like the one in the living room." He picked up a piece of paper with an elaborate pentagram stenciled onto it and held it up for Dean to see. "He's got them everywhere."

"Yeah. The dude had one hell of a library, too," Dean commented, playing with a strand of prayer beads on Trevor's dresser. "A buttload of books on everything from demonology to psychic phenomena to necromancy."

"Really?"

"Yep. Looks like Trevor was a little less innocent than everyone thought."

Sam cocked his head to the left. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

Sam frowned. "I thought I heard voices."

"Nah." Dean flipped through a photo album lying open on the dresser. "You're always hearing voices."

"No, I'm serious. I know I did."

Dean shrugged. "Well, I don't think there's much more to see here." He led the way out of the bedroom. "I say we go grab a bite to eat. I'm starving. I'm pretty sure I saw a Mexican place a few miles-"

Trevor Bradley's back door squeaked on its hinges. Someone else was inside the apartment.

Dean fell silent as he reached for the Colt 1911 pistol he had tucked inside his jeans. He and Sam backed into the bedroom and peeked around the corner.

A female voice exclaimed, "There's so much blood. And look at the formation of it."

Dean looked at Sam.

Sam shrugged his broad shoulders.

The same voice continued, "What kind of 'natural cause' would do that to a person?"

The brothers glanced at each other again.

Dean tilted his head forward just enough to get a good look at the speaker. _The girl from Trevor's church?_ He turned back to Sam and replaced his gun. After another set of confused glances, he and Sam left the bedroom and walked into the living room where the girl and her friend stood.

Before the Winchesters could politely announce their presence, Jennifer Bane and Alanna Parkhurst screamed.

"Whoa, whoa, calm down! We didn't mean to scare you," Dean bellowed. He moved closer to them. "What are you doing here?"

"What the heck are _you_ doing here?" Jennifer retorted, trying to catch her breath. Her hand unconsciously went to her racing heart as she spoke. "If you have anything to do with Trevor's death-"

"I have a knife," Alanna threatened them.

"And I have Mace," Jennifer added.

Dean started to say that _they_ had guns, but thankfully, he realized the stupidity of that comment before it was out. "Hey, take it easy there," Dean said, holding up a hand. "We didn't do anything."

"You said you were new in town," Jennifer began. "You acted all weird, then you slipped out during the altar call…and now you're here, wandering around a dead guy's house."

Sam and Dean stared at each other.

"Well," Dean sighed. He reached into his jacket pocket and extracted a gold badge. "That's because our investigation requires us to. I'm Detective Ulrich, and this is my partner, Sam Hetfield. We're from the County Sheriff's Department."

Sam nodded and held up his own identification for them to see. "We had to handle this case carefully due to the mysterious circumstances surrounding Mr. Bradley's death."

Jennifer's face flushed red with embarrassment. "Oh my gosh, I am so sorry, detectives." She glanced at Alanna, then back at the two men. "We're only here because Trevor's sister, Amanda, asked us to stop by and pick up a few things for her."

"Trevor had a sister?" Dean inquired. "I thought you said he didn't have any family."

"Did I? Oh. Well, I meant that he had no family anywhere _nearby_. But yeah, he did have a sister," Jennifer lied without hesitation. "She's an English major at Georgetown. We're friends on Myspace."

"Could you give us a way to contact Amanda?" Sam asked her, removing a pen and a wadded up Texaco receipt from his pants pocket. "A phone number or an address, maybe?"

"Yeah, sure." Jennifer gulped. "Her number is, uh, it's 2, 1, 2, 6…6, 0, uh, 2, 2, 4, 5."

Sam jotted the number down on the back of the receipt with a smile. "And that's Amanda Bradley?"

Jennifer nodded.

"Thank you so much for all your help," Dean said. His lips twisted into a boyish grin.

Jennifer struggled to meet his gaze. "You're welcome." Her eyes drifted about the small living room. "Oh!" She suddenly stepped toward the fireplace and reached for a glass display case resting on the mantel. The small box enclosed an autographed baseball. "This is the last of it. The autographed baseball." She unzipped her oversized faux leather purse and slipped it inside. "We'll get out of your way now. Sorry again about the intrusion."

"No need to apologize, ladies," Dean said, sizing up the two young women as they walked away. "Just think twice next time before entering a crime scene."

Alanna looked at them over her shoulder. "Oh, we will."

* * *

Neither Jennifer nor Alanna said a word until they were inside the Honda.

The moment the car doors closed, Alanna exploded. "You just lied to cops."

"What was I supposed to tell them? 'Oh, I just broke into a guy's apartment because I had some weird feeling that told me to.'"

Alanna paused. "Well, no. But you had no business in there in the first place."

"You went with me."

"Yeah, and that was stupid. Premonition or not, we should have known better than to break into someone's home."

"Yeah." Jennifer heaved a sigh. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking." She cranked up the vehicle, slammed into drive, and gassed it. "But what are the chances that the _one _time we do something illegal, the _one _time we break into someone's house, detectives are inside?"

"I know." Alanna sighed as well. "But those improv classes of yours paid off. You did a great job thinking on your feet. Seriously, I was impressed."

"Really?"

"Yeah." Alanna could not help but grin. "Especially with Amanda at Georgetown."

Jennifer smiled back. "At least my love for _Scarecrow and Mrs. King _is good for something."

"But that fake phone number…" Alanna sighed again. "They'll know you lied when the number doesn't work."

Jennifer swallowed hard.

"This could get us in big trouble, Jennifer. Real trouble."

"They didn't even get our names."

"No, but they saw you at church this morning-"

"-where I introduced myself." Jennifer rolled her eyes, disgusted with herself. "They've got my first name. And they know where I go to school."

"So they know that much about you. And they probably got the number of your license plates."

"Crap."

Alanna nervously fingered her safety belt. "Surely they won't come after us."

"Surely not." The butterflies fluttering around inside Jennifer's midsection were beginning to feel more like ravenous carnivores shredding apart her stomach. Jennifer suddenly slapped the steering wheel. "Dang it."

"What?"

Referring to the autographed baseball in her purse, Jennifer said, "I'm gonna be charged with burglary, too."


	3. 1x1, III: The Truth

_Room Twelve,_

_Econo Lodge._

"Well, Trevor's sister doesn't check out," Sam Winchester said, exhaling loudly as he closed his flip phone. "She gave us the number to the Rejection Hotline."

Dean clicked off the slightly boring episode of _Diagnosis Murder _he was halfway watching. "Seriously?"

Sam rose from his seat at the small table inside their room and moved across the paisley-printed carpet toward the bed on which his older brother reclined. Standing at the footboard, Sam flipped open his phone, redialed the number, and turned up the speaker volume. _"Hello. This is not the person you are trying to call. You've reached the Rejection Hotline-"_ Sam pressed 'end.'

"Dang it," Dean huffed. "I thought that number sounded familiar."

A grin spread across Sam's face. "Somebody gave you the number to the Rejection Hotline?"

"Remember that waitress in Tampa?" Dean's hazel green eyes grew a little shifty. "I gave _her_ that number when she asked for mine."

"Sure you did."

Dean shrugged his shoulders. "So. We just got hustled by a church chick?"

"Yeah. It seems that way."

"You think she knows more about Trevor's death than she's telling?"

Sam seated himself on the edge of the other bed. "Maybe. Why else would she lie to us?"

"I don't know." Dean scratched his forehead. "Guess we've gotta find her then."

Sam nodded. "Yep."

"Man," Dean groaned. "I can't believe we got conned by a church girl."

* * *

Ron Moreland, the senior pastor at New Hope Community Church, was a small man. He stood about five foot two and wore a size seven in men's shoes. All of his clothing was adjusted to accommodate his small frame, and even then, his pant cuffs often dragged on the ground. But behind the desk in his church office, a grand executive desk with a glistening cherry finish, he appeared much larger.

On this Monday morning, he sat behind that fancy desk of his, forming an outline for his upcoming sermon.

He glanced up as Lenita, the church secretary, leaned into his office.

"Pastor Ron," Lenita greeted him. "These gentlemen need to speak with you."

Lenita disappeared as Dean and Sam Winchester, dressed in dark suits and ties, stepped into his workplace.

"Hello." Ron smiled warmly as he welcomed them. "What can I do for you?"

Sam and Dean reached into their jackets simultaneously and pulled out their fake badges. "I'm Detective Ulrich, and this is my partner, Sam Hetfield," Dean announced. "We're with the County Sheriff's Department."

Ron's surprise was evident, though he attempted to hide it. "Is something the matter, detectives?"

"No, sir, nothing's wrong," Sam told him gently, giving him a comforting smile. "But we think you can help us with something."

"Okay." Ron pulled his reading glasses from his nose and set them on his desk. "I'll do my best."

"Pastor, we're looking for one of your church members," Dean said. "A lifelong member. We only know her first name. Jennifer. Early twenties; long, curly brown hair; big gray-blue eyes; mmm…about…yay tall…" He waved a hand approximately five feet and five inches higher than the carpet.

An expression of concern settled upon the preacher's face. "Is she in some kind of trouble?"

"No, no sir. No trouble," Sam assured him. "We just need to speak with her."

The pastor spun his plush leather desk chair around and pulled open the top drawer of his filing cabinet. He extracted a blue spiral-bound hardcover labeled _The New Hope Community Church Directory, 2005_. He opened it and thumbed through the pages. "Is this her?" Pointing to a small photograph at the top of the page, Ron Moreland held out the book for the brothers to see.

The picture depicted a smiling family of four. A father, a mother, and two teenage girls. Although it was not a recent photo, Dean and Sam recognized the shorter daughter immediately.

"That's her alright," Dean remarked. Below the photograph was the following caption: David, Alma, Jennifer, and Jessica Bane. "Jennifer Bane."

"Pastor Moreland, what can you tell us about Jennifer?" Sam queried.

"Well, I've known-"

A tall guy with oversized ears and thin black hair burst through the office door. "Hey, Ron, I'm headed to Arby's for lunch-" he stopped mid-sentence. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't know you had visitors."

"That's okay, Frank," Ron assured him.

Frank nodded in the direction of Sam and Dean. "I'll get outta your hair."

"If you're going to Arby's, do you mind bringing me back one of those beef and cheddar things?" the pastor asked him.

"No, I don't mind," Frank responded, grinning. "It might not make it back, though. They're sure hard to resist."

"That they are." Ron laughed. "Thanks, Frank."

Frank winked and left them alone.

"That's Frank Linton, our associate pastor," Ron informed them. "Great guy."

Dean grinned. "Must be. He likes Arby's Beef 'n Cheddar."

Pastor Ron let out a hearty chuckle. "Mercy. I'm sorry, detectives. You'd just asked me about Jennifer." He returned the church directory to its storage place. "I started telling you that I've known Jennifer and her family for a long time. Like you said, she's a lifelong member. I've watched her grow up. And let me say that she's grown into a wonderful, Christian young lady. You couldn't find a more committed church member." Ron smiled as he spoke. "She's at church every Sunday. Every Sunday night. Every Wednesday night. She comes for Sunday School. Sings in the choir. Sings specials. She's got a beautiful voice, detectives, and she uses her talent for the Lord."

"Really?" Sam glanced at his brother as he added, "How nice."

"Yes. She's a godly young woman. Been on I don't know how many mission trips and youth camps," Ron continued. "Oh, and she's also on the church drama team. I believe she's a drama minor at the university. She's a very good actress as well."

"That she is," Dean commented with a smile.

* * *

At half past noon, Jennifer Bane was seated on her sofa, turkey and provolone sandwich in hand as she watched a rerun of _Ghosthunters_. Her informal lunch ended abruptly when a '67 Impala screeched to a halt outside her apartment.

The detectives.

She dropped her sandwich. Fumbled around to cut off her television. Glanced out her window just as the suit-clad men strolled up to her front door.

This was it. The moment her parents had warned her about. The very reason she had _always_ played by the rules and made the right choices. Her one and only stupid, out of character decision to break the law had caught up with her. And when the doorbell rang, she would have to face the consequences.

_Ding-dong._

Jennifer gulped. She could pretend she wasn't home. But they probably had a warrant or something to search the place. Being discovered hiding in a closet would be even worse.

So, trembling all over, she tiptoed toward her front door, unlocked it, and pulled it open.

The men stood before her, looking quite ticked off.

"Hey, Jennifer," Dean greeted her dryly. "Remember us?"

It took her a moment to find her voice. When she did, it came out squeaky. "Detectives. Hey."

"We called your 'friend'," he went on. "You know, the one at Georgetown?"

"Oh, yeah?"

"Mm-hmm." Dean paused. "Got the Rejection Hotline."

Jennifer felt her face growing hot with embarrassment. "What? You must have misdialed."

Sam reached into his pocket, took out his phone, redialed the number, and played it on speakerphone. _"Hello. This is not the person you are trying to call. You have reached the Rejection Hotline-" _He ended the call. "That's the number you gave us."

"I'm so sorry. I must have gotten a number mixed up."

"No, no, it's okay to admit it. You memorized the Rejection Hotline number too. It's a good one to remember. I've used it a time or two myself," Dean smirked. "But I gotta tell you, I sure was disappointed to be on the receiving end. Especially from a ten like yourself."

Jennifer said nothing.

"Now why don't you tell us what you were doing inside Trevor Bradley's apartment?" Dean took an intimidating step toward her. "Without lying through your ass this time."

* * *

"So, basically, you had a premonition?" Sam asked Jennifer, watching her intently from the recliner in which he now sat. The three of them had congregated in Jennifer's living room.

"Well, yeah, I guess you could call it that," she replied hesitantly. "But it was more like a strong…feeling. Just a feeling that something was wrong."

"Yeah, that's called a premonition," Dean sneered.

She sighed. "Detectives, I realize that what I did was wrong. I shouldn't have let myself into Trevor's apartment, and I'm planning to return the autographed baseball. But he was kind of a friend of mine, a friend of everyone's, really, and I feel like there's more to the story than what I was told. And if that's true, then I want to make sure that whoever is responsible for his death pays for it."

"And you feel this way because of a premonition?" Sam repeated.

"Yeah, I guess so." Jennifer shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. "I know how it sounds. I know I sound crazy and-"

"No," Sam argued. "You don't sound crazy. We believe you."

Her blue eyes met his green ones. "You do?"

Sam nodded. "And unfortunately, your premonition was dead on."

"No pun intended," Dean remarked.

"Trevor Bradley did not die of natural causes," Sam told her, ignoring Dean's comment. "Something else happened to him."

"Yes!" Jennifer exclaimed. "All the blood, the sigil on the floor-"

"Whoa, wait a second," Dean stopped her. "You know the word 'sigil'?"

She shrugged. "Is having a wide vocabulary a crime now too?"

"I don't know, it's just odd that you know what a sigil is," Dean said.

"So you'd probably think even less of me if I told you it was a protective sigil? Probably first used by fifteenth century witches?"

"How do you know all this?" Sam inquired.

"Uh, well, I learned a lot of stuff from Brother Frank," she answered.

"Brother Frank?" Dean repeated in question form.

"Yeah. Frank Linton. The associate pastor at New Hope."

Sam and Dean glanced at each other. They remembered seeing the Arby's-loving man inside Pastor Moreland's office.

"Brother Frank is really into researching world religions and cults. He once taught a series of lessons at church called _Knowing Your Enemy_. He talked about witchcraft, demons, necromancy, things like that."

Dean was shocked. "In church?"

"It was a little controversial, but he defended his teachings by asking the congregation, 'How can you overcome the enemy if you don't know it?'"

"Well," Dean said. "That might explain Trevor's library from Hell. I guess the associate pastor and Trevor Bradley were pretty tight."

"I don't know. Trevor had only been coming to New Hope for a few months, and Brother Frank's _Knowing Your Enemy _series ended last year."

Sam leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs. "But your associate pastor, he actually believes in the things he taught about?"

"Sure he believes in them. At least enough to see them as threats to Christianity."

"Has he ever gone beyond just researching other religions? Has he ever practiced any kind of occult rituals or-"

A slight frown spread across Jennifer's face. "I think you're misunderstanding me. Brother Frank's lessons were trying to steer church members _away _from those things. He was only trying to educate the church about spiritual warfare."

"Maybe." Dean said, looking unconvinced. "But considering the details of Trevor Bradley's death- all those books everywhere, those symbols all over his stuff, sigils like the one drawn in blood on the living room carpet- _and_ his connection to a man with loads of occult knowledge...isn't it possible that your honorable associate pastor went dark side? And maybe Trevor was his Padawan? And_ maybe_ dear old Master Frank taught him how to set up one of those rituals out of his copy of _Witchcraft for Dummies_, and he did it right in the middle of his living room and accidentally ganked himself."

"Are you being sarcastic?" Jennifer wanted to know. He shook his head. "So, you believe in those things too."

"Oh, sweetheart," Dean grinned. "More than you know."

"Does that mean you see a lot of cases like this?"

"You bet. This kinda stuff? It's what we do." Dean's grin widened. "We're like Mulder and Scully." He pointed to Sam. "He's Scully."

Her brow shot up in surprise. "You mean the X-files are real? Is Trevor's death an X-file?"

"No, uh, okay, look." Sam rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "We're not, uh, we're not really detectives." He swallowed. "We came here from Illinois when a friend of ours told us about Trevor and the circumstances surrounding his death. It sounded like it might be our kinda stuff, so we came to check it out."

"Your kinda stuff?"

"We hunt demons." Dean bluntly informed Jennifer. "Spirits. Vampires. Things your worst nightmares wouldn't even touch."

"Kinda sorta like T.A.P.S." She smiled, impressed by their careers. "Only with fake badges and no cameras."

"…Nothing like T.A.P.S.," Dean retorted. "We actually kill the evil suckers instead of screwing around trying to 'make contact' with them. Trust us. You don't wanna make contact with the lingering dead."

"Oh. Well, I hadn't really planned on it."

"Back to Trevor Bradley," Sam redirected the conversation. "Our friend, Ash, first took notice of this area when demonic omens started popping up. Things like continual electrical storms, power outages, drop in barometric pressure, and crop failures, all within a five-mile radius of Antioch. Then he heard about Trevor, a local college student who mysteriously died in his home. And according to eyewitness and police reports, his apartment was locked from the inside, with no signs of a break-in."

"So you're thinking a demon killed Trevor?"

Dean nodded. "Yep."

"It makes sense to me," Jennifer stated calmly. "The symbols, the sulfur on the windowsill-"

"Sulfur?" Dean almost laughed. "You sure do know your enemy, don't you?"

Jennifer blushed a little.

"Anyway, those are all signs of demonic presence," Sam continued. "Also, there were no wounds anywhere on his body. In fact, the cause of death? His heart stopped. For no apparent reason."

"And we noticed something else," Dean spoke up. "Every clock in Trevor's apartment was stuck on 2:46. I'm willing to bet that's when he died."

She bit her lip. "That's really weird."

"So, we're pretty sure it's a demon we're dealing with," Dean told her. "We've just got figure out why it went after Trevor and make sure it doesn't go after anyone else."

"Sounds easier said than done," Jennifer remarked. "Can I do anything to help?"

"I don't think so," Sam said, rising to his feet. Dean and Jennifer followed suit. "But if you should think of anything that seems important, give us a call. Or just stop by our motel room. We're staying at the Econo Lodge, room twelve." Sam extracted a pen and a mini-notebook from his jacket pocket. He scribbled their cell phone numbers onto a page, ripped it out, and handed it to Jennifer

"Alright," Jennifer said. "I'll keep in touch."

"Say, why don't you go ahead and give us your number too?" Dean asked her. "That way we can let you know what we find out."

"Okay."

Sam offered her his notebook and pen.

Dean leaned closer to her as she wrote, hoping to get a look at the notepad. "This _is _your real number, isn't it? Not the Rick Roll Hotline or something?"

She glanced up at him and smiled. "Guess you'll find out later."

* * *

The rain eased up a little as the Winchesters stepped outside Jennifer's apartment and headed toward the Impala.

"Smooth way to get her number there, Dean," Sam told his brother when they reached the car. He immediately went to the right side of the vehicle.

"Please." Dean opened the driver's door and glanced at Sam over the top of the car. "You know I'm not into prude chicks." He climbed inside.

Sam did the same. "Not even hot ones?"

"Hot? She's cute, at best."

"Right." The younger Winchester grinned as they closed their doors in synch. "You remembered her name though. That must mean something. And that was a pretty accurately detailed description you gave Pastor Moreland, too. Long, curly brown hair and…what did you say? Big gray-blue eyes?"

"That's general information, Sam. Anyone would have remembered that." Dean cranked the engine, cueing up The Eagles. The first line of the chorus filled the car: _"You can't hide your lyin' eyes." _He cut off the radio.

"It's just an interesting observation," Sam said, buckling his seatbelt. "You know, in an observationally…interesting way."

"We've gotta figure out what happened to Trevor Bradley, remember? It's research time. I say we find a decent restaurant with a WI-FI connection and get to Googlin' while we grab some lunch. I'm starving. What sounds good?"

"Topic change noted."

"Stupid comment ignored."

Sam sighed. "Whatever you want to eat is fine with me."

"That pastor's got me craving Arby's."

* * *

"They've got a Kansas tag," Jennifer Bane told her best friend. With the telephone pinned to her ear, she hid behind a curtain in her living room and watched through the blinds as the Impala sped out of sight. "And now they're gone." She stepped away from the window. "They just left the parking lot."

"So they're from Kansas," Alanna Parkhurst stated.

"I guess. But who knows? Their badges were fake. They're not detectives. Their last names definitely aren't Ulrich and Hetfield."

"Then what are their names?"

"I don't even know," Jennifer spoke into the phone. "They never said, and I didn't ask." She returned to the sofa and picked up her half-eaten turkey sandwich.

"They lied to you at church, then they lied about being detectives. If they lie about everything, what makes you think they really hunt all those things?"

"I'm not sure." She bit into the sandwich. Chewed. Swallowed. "I guess I shouldn't have believed them, but they sounded legit." She heaved a sigh. "I don't know. Maybe they were just messing around with me because I told them about my 'feelings'."

"What?" Alanna's shock was evident in her voice. "You told them?"

"I kind of had to."

"But no one knows about your feelings." She almost sounded jealous. "Nobody but me."

"Yeah. I know. I certainly didn't want to tell them," she replied. "But they didn't make fun of me. They didn't look at me like I was a freak. They said they believed me, and I believed them." She brushed a few sandwich crumbs from her jeans. "They know too much about demons to _not_ be the real deal."

The line went silent.

"Really, Alanna, how many local detectives know that much about the occult? We're in freaking Mayberry."

"Quite true."

"I think they're telling the truth this time." Jennifer set the remainder of her sandwich on her plate and stared at nothing in particular. "No matter what that means."

* * *

The Winchesters sat inside Arby's, occupying a booth by the window.

"Man, I forgot how good these things are," Dean said, admiring the mound of thinly sliced roast beef drowned in creamy cheddar sauce and crammed between the top and bottom of a fresh bun. "Look at this thing. It's amazing!"

"It does look pretty good," Sam commented. He barely looked away from his laptop screen.

"Aren't you gonna eat something?"

"I'm really not that hungry."

Dean just shrugged and scooped up his messy sandwich. "How's the research going? Found anything yet?"

"I think so." Sam turned the computer around to face Dean. An enlarged image of the symbol found on Trevor Bradley's carpet filled the screen. "Jennifer didn't lie about the sigil. It really is for protection, used by witches in fifteenth century London to ward off death. Some witches actually carved the symbol into their forearms in attempt to protect themselves from dying."

"That's kinda creepy."

"Yeah. But it was also used in a certain ritual to keep away reapers."

Dean spoke, though his mouth was full. "What kinda ritual?"

"Sounds pretty standard. Specially arranged candles, a Latin incantation. And the person seeking protection has to paint the sigil in cat's blood on the floor or ground where the ritual takes place."

"Huh. Well, I didn't see any candles at Trevor's place. And he's dead. You think he screwed up the ritual and _summoned _a reaper?"

"Maybe. That would explain all the stopped clocks, since reapers stop time." Sam pulled his laptop back to himself. "But what about the sulfur on the windowsill? That doesn't really fit."

"Yeah."

"I think we need to talk to the associate pastor. The questionable Brother Frank."

"Sure thing." Dean shoved in a curly fry or six. "Right after I finish this sandwich."

"Of course."

Dean raised one index finger in the air, motioning for Sam to wait a minute. He opened his mouth wide and stuffed the remainder of his Beef 'n Cheddar inside. He chewed it violently. Gulped it down. Belched loudly. "We can go."

Sam closed his computer with a sigh. He stuffed the laptop inside his bag and stood to his feet.

After clearing off their table, the Winchesters headed to Impala.

Dean had just cranked up the car when a tap on the window startled him. He glanced up. An attractive young man, probably around Sam's age, with a large, crooked nose and curly, close-cropped brown hair frowned at him through the glass. Dean turned to his brother, who simply shrugged his shoulders. Without bothering to turn down the Led Zeppelin song blasting from the speakers, Dean rolled down the window. "Yeah?"

The guy bent down and leaned in. "I'm not sure if you're aware of this or not, but cars like this one cause seventy-five percent of America's air pollution."

Dean stared at him incredulously. "Come again?"

The guy swallowed. "This old clunker of yours is increasing your carbon footprint."

Dean clenched his jaw. "Well. How about my carbon footprint and your ass get a little better acquainted?"

Surprised by Dean's blatancy, the guy's green eyes widened. "Are you not concerned about the impact you're making on the environment?" He didn't give Dean a chance to answer. Instead, he wrinkled his big nose with disgust. "_What_ are you listening to?"

"What, you got a problem with Zeppelin too?" Dean sneered.

"Do you _know _what their lyrics say?" He folded his muscular arms across his chest, right across the words printed on his green graphic tee- _Kiss Me, I'm Irish_. "It's all a bunch of Satanic filth. It's the Devil's music!"

"Yes!" Another male voice agreed from behind him. Apparently, the outspoken Irishman had a friend. A shorter, stockier friend with large brown eyes and a bowl haircut. "It shorely is! Hadn't yew ever hurd 'Stairway to Heaven' played backwards?"

Both Dean and Sam cringed. The shorter, stockier guy also had the _worst _Southern accent either of them had ever heard. His exaggerated twang was nearly unbearable.

They were definitely in Alabama.

The taller, big-nosed guy in the _Kiss Me, I'm Irish _shirt went on with his rant. "From the attack on Jesus Christ to the glorification of Hell and Satan, there is no logical or rational explanation for such lyrics besides the obvious influence of Satan!"

Dean stared at the guys blankly.

So did Sam.

"It's dangerous," the guy continued vehemently. "And I see that the Devil has already used it to lure you into his snares."

"…Oh, yeah." Dean was becoming slightly amused by the two. He smiled mockingly. "Sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll, man!"

The strangers glanced at one another.

"I thank he wuz talkin' about your…alternative lifestyle," the short, stocky one drawled.

Sam laughed out loud. "Alternative lifestyle?"

Short and Stocky nodded. "Your…homosexual relations."

The Winchesters exchanged looks.

"We're not gay," Sam huffed.

"We're _brothers_," Dean quickly added.

Big-Nose rolled his green eyes. "You homosexuals need to either confess your sin and turn from your wickedness or go back to San Francisco where you came from."

How much judgment could a person pass on a complete stranger in less than a minute? Dean was stunned by the guy's complete ignorance. "Typical response from an idiot redneck," Dean snarled.

Fueled by Dean's hostility, Big-Nose packed even more fire into his voice. "We don't need your AIDS, and we don't need you corrupting our town with your Devil music."

"That's right!" Short and Stocky cheered him on. "Yew tell 'um, man!"

Dean was no longer amused, and he didn't feel like arguing with the numskulls. That was obviously leading nowhere. He turned to his younger brother and dialed up the sarcasm. "Wow, Sam. I can't believe this. We've been living in sin for so long." He turned back to the judgmental strangers. "If you two will excuse us, we've gotta go trade this piece of junk in for a Prius. You know, 'cause we don't wanna release any more toxins into the air while we're out looking for Bill Gaither albums." Back to Sam. "Looks like we're gonna have to skip out on the Pride Parade, too."

Sam shrugged. "Too bad."

"Yep. Too bad." Dean shifted the car into reverse. "Thanks for the sermon, fellas. You saved us from being deep-fried down under." He rolled up the window as fast as he could and hi-tailed it out of the parking lot. "What the hell was that?"

Sam shook his head in disbelief. "I have no idea."

"Seriously. Who does that?" He glanced at the guys in his rearview mirror. "Dumbasses."


	4. 1x1, IV: The Demon

_New Hope Community Church, _

_Antioch, Alabama._

Associate Pastor Frank Linton was surprisingly eager to answer Dean and Sam's questions concerning Trevor Bradley. In fact, he seemed excited to talk about his relationship with the deceased college student.

"Sure, I knew Trevor well," Frank told the Winchesters as he leaned back into his office chair. "I gave him private counseling a few times. He was dealing with a few personal issues, and he thought I might could be of help to him."

Sam's eyebrows arched. "What do you mean 'personal issues'?"

For the first time since they had entered his office, Frank was hesitant to respond. "Well, just that. It was personal. What we discussed is a private matter."

"With all due respect, sir, Trevor's gone," Dean pointed out. His forehead wrinkled. "I don't see how that still stands."

Brother Frank paused for a moment, considering his answer. Then he said firmly, "What we talked about is confidential."

"Yes, sir, we understand that," Sam told him softly. "But in order for us to effectively pursue our investigation, we need to know what was bothering Trevor so much that he sought your counsel."

The associate pastor exhaled loudly. "Alright," he said with a nod. He took a moment to continue. "Trevor first came to me about six months ago. He said that something strange was happening to him." Brother Frank stopped and scratched the bulbous tip of his nose. "He, uh, he said that he could read other people's thoughts. That he was telepathic. He said he had developed the ability six months before we first talked."

Sam gulped. "This power of his supposedly began a year ago?"

"That's right," Brother Frank replied. His round brown eyes grew larger and even rounder. "Of course, I didn't exactly believe him when he told me that. But when he insisted that it was true, I decided to test him. I thought of something out of the blue…and he called it out to me correctly. I tried it again. He was right again. And again. I don't know how he was doing it." He swallowed hard. "I know it sounds crazy, detectives, but somehow, Trevor could read my thoughts."

Another twenty-three-year-old with psychic abilities that had begun a year ago.

Sam was stunned.

Dean was equally surprised. His mind immediately went to Ava Wilson. Andy Gallagher. Max Miller. All of the Yellow-Eyed Demon's other known "psychic kids." He knew Sam had to be thinking the same thing.

But Frank Linton wasn't finished.

"Trevor also told me that he'd been having nightmares," Frank went on slowly. His expression changed to one that reflected deep concern. "In these nightmares of his, he said that a man appeared to him and told him to do things, bad things, with his new telepathic ability."

Sam tried to conceal his emotions as he asked, "And he told you all of this because he knew you would believe him. Because he knew about your series, _Knowing Your Enemy_, the lessons you taught about demonology."

"Yes," Brother Frank said. "Anyone else would have sent Trevor to a psychiatrist, but I honestly believed, and still do believe, that his problem was purely a spiritual one. No amount of pills or therapy could have helped him."

"So what did_ you_ do to help him?" Dean wanted to know.

"Trevor said the man in his dreams told him he would come for him if he didn't use his telepathy for evil." The associate pastor's eyes grew shifty, and he suddenly became interested in the bookshelf to his right. "So, I gave him some books."

The brothers followed his gaze. Nonfiction titles like _The Believer's Guide to Spiritual Warfare _and _Demonology from Past to Present _stood out among others.

"Right." Dean snorted. "Just some helpful educational material to teach him about his enemy."

Frank frowned. "The books I gave him were full of truth."

Dean angrily shook his head. "You oughta be held responsible for his death, giving him that quack reaper summoning ritual like you did."

"No, you don't understand," Frank cried out. His voice was suddenly shrill and panicky. "The ritual I gave him was for protection."

"Then why is Trevor Bradley dead?" Sam tossed back.

"He didn't have a chance to finish it," Brother Frank answered. "By the time he began the ritual, it was too late. The demon had already come for him."

* * *

_Apartment D-6,_

_Cedar Trace Apartments._

_Early the next morning._

Jennifer Bane awoke from her nightmare with a slight gasp. She was covered in sweat. Trembling with fear. Disoriented. But she soon realized that she was back in her bedroom, safe in her bed, protected from the terror depicted in her dream.

But that didn't stop the scene of Trevor Bradley's death from constantly replaying in her mind.

She rolled over to face the nightstand. Her alarm clock read 2:46 AM.

She gulped. Trevor's clocks had stopped at 2:46 AM. His time of death was 2:46 AM. That couldn't be a coincidence.

Jennifer forced her eyelids shut.

The fatal duel between Trevor Bradley and the mystery man, the one from her nightmare, reappeared in her head.

She grunted and reopened her eyes.

2:46 became 2:47.

She was still alive.

Thankful for that fact, Jennifer flopped onto her back and gazed at the ceiling. The flush mount light fixture, composed of round, frosted glass and a circular black screw at the center, resembled a giant eye staring down at her.

She could not escape.

The face of the mystery man, the man who had killed Trevor Bradley in her dream, invaded her thoughts once more.

Her breath snagged in her throat as she peered into the killer's eyes.

His horrible, yellow eyes.

* * *

Sam was seated at the table, in front of his laptop, poring over all the records and reports they had on Trevor Bradley. "Trevor never bled. All the blood on his carpet is feline. The police found a jar of the stuff lying near the sigil."

Dean sat at the foot of his bed, cleaning out the barrel of a sawed-off shotgun. "Yep. Which confirms that he tried the ritual both you and Frank Linton were talking about."

_Knock, knock. Knock._

The Winchesters glanced at each other and shrugged in unison.

Sam, who was closer to the door, rose to answer it. He was surprised to find Jennifer Bane standing before him. "Jennifer. Hey."

"Hey." Dean tossed the sawed-off behind him. Then he realized trying to hide the gun wouldn't do him much good. He had an arsenal spread out beside him on the bedspread.

"I hope this isn't a bad time," Jennifer said.

"Not at all. Come in," Sam told her, pulling the door open wider. She reluctantly stepped inside. "Is everything okay?" Sam closed the door behind her.

"Yeah." She nodded with a smile. "Everything's good."

Sam awkwardly returned her smile. "Okay."

"That's a lot of guns!" she suddenly exclaimed, taking a step back.

"Don't worry," Dean said. "Just cleaning house."

"Is it legal to have that many?" She looked genuinely disturbed. "Is that sawed-off legal?"

"Hey, you entered a crime scene _and _stole a dead guy's baseball, remember?" Dean told her. "Don't judge."

Jennifer sighed and attempted to overlook the collection of weaponry. "So." She fingered her purse strap nervously. "Have you learned anything else about Trevor?"

Neither Winchester wanted to answer.

Sam finally spoke up. "Well, we looked up that sigil. You were right. It's used for protection," he said. "And it's also used in an old ritual to keep away reapers."

Jennifer's expression changed and her face grew paler. "Reapers?"

Dean nodded. "You know, collecting your soul, taking you to the other side…"

"Yeah," she said gently. "I know what a reaper is."

"Of course you do." Dean rolled his eyes.

She swallowed and looked at Sam. "Listen, I, uh, I came here for a reason." She began to pace back and forth slowly. "But I really don't wanna tell you why I came, because seriously, guys, you're gonna think I'm some kind of psychic freak or something."

"Did you have another premonition?" Sam wanted to know.

"No," she sighed. "I, uh, I kind of…well-"

"It's okay," Dean interrupted. He grinned mischievously and sardonically added, "This is a…safe space."

"I'm sorry." Jennifer cleared her throat. "I just don't like to talk about this stuff." She took a deep breath and released it. "In addition to my…feelings, I have these nightmares, these dreams about people that always, well, _most_ of the time, come true." Jennifer watched as their faces tensed up. "Uh, they're usually pretty vivid. Usually violent. Always upsetting." She paused again. "And I've been losing a lot of sleep lately because I keep having the same one over and over again."

A quick pause.

"You're one of us," Sam blurted out. "I have nightmares too. Just like yours."

It was Jennifer's turn to be shocked. "You do?"

"Yeah. When did yours start?"

"Uh, I don't know. Maybe about…fifteen years ago? I was pretty young."

"Oh." Sam's brow furrowed. "You don't fit the pattern."

"What pattern?"

"Long story," Dean responded. "I wouldn't worry too much about it."

Sam shot him a look. "Dean, she needs to know about-"

"No, Sam," he warned.

Sam acted as if Dean had said nothing. "Was there a house fire when you were young? Maybe when you were six months old?"

Totally confused, Jennifer shook her head. "No…"

"Sam-"

"Your mother. Is she living?" Sam continued to ignore his brother.

"Yes…" Jennifer was giving him a look that clearly screamed, _What the crap?_

"I'm sorry," Sam apologized. "It's just that Dean and I keep meeting these psychics, ordinary people like you and me, who have special abilities. Uh, there's this girl, Ava Wilson. She has nightmares too, like us. A guy, Andy Gallagher- he can make people do anything by simply telling them to do it." He glanced at Dean, who glared back at him. "Trevor Bradley, he was one of them too. He was telepathic."

"_What?_"

"I know, it's hard to believe, and it doesn't make sense. But we talked to your associate pastor, Frank. He told us that Trevor came to see him. Starting a year ago, he had the ability to read people's thoughts. He had nightmares, too," Sam rambled. "I'm not sure how, and I'm not sure why, but we're all connected."

Jennifer had absolutely no idea how to respond. "Okay," she said dumbly.

"A lot of us psychics have similar backgrounds. Some of us had house fires on our sixth month birthdays." Sam stopped. "Some of our mothers died in those fires." He sighed. "All of our abilities began a year ago. Except you."

She still didn't know what to say. So, she sat there quietly, staring blankly at Sam.

Dean noticed this and tried to help her out. "Okay, Sammy. That's enough of that." He turned to Jennifer. "Why don't you finish telling us about your nightmare?"

Sam nodded.

After an awkwardly long moment, Jennifer spoke up again. "…Alright. I've been having this one nightmare for a little over a week. It started out kind of…fuzzy, I guess. Hazy. That's the word. I couldn't remember much about it." She stopped to breathe. "But last night, for the first time, it was all perfectly clear."

Sam was almost scared to ask. "What did you see?"

"Trevor's death."

Dean stared at her for a second. "Aren't your prophetic dreams a little behind?"

"Sometimes I keep dreaming about things after they've happened. I don't know why. But I think it could be useful now."

"Are you saying that you saw what happened to him?" Sam asked, lowering himself to the edge of the bed.

She nodded. "I think so."

The room went silent.

"Well?" Dean urged her on.

"The dream began with Trevor running around his apartment, pouring salt across doorways and windowsills." Jennifer pulled a chair away from the table and sank into it. "He was panicking. Getting ready for something. A reaper, apparently." She set her purse on the floor. "He had this glass container full of blood, and he opened it up really fast and used it to paint that protective sigil on the carpet. He was in a huge hurry, and he was nervous. He kept tripping over his own feet and stuff. And…then the reaper came."

Dean leaned forward and propped on his thighs. "What did it look like?"

"A man. Just a normal looking man. The only thing strange about him was his eyes." She cringed as she pictured them. "They were this unnaturally bright yellow."

Sam and Dean shared an intense look.

"That's no reaper." Dean grimaced. "You saw a demon."

"Not just any demon, Dean," Sam spouted, barely able to remain sitting down. "_The _demon! Yellow Eyes was the man in Trevor's dreams."

"Trevor dreamed about him too?"

After another moment of silence, Sam replied, "That whole psychic thing I was telling you about? The yellow-eyed demon is involved in it. He came to Trevor in his dreams and told him to use his telepathy for evil, and that if he didn't, he would kill him."

"Apparently," Dean spoke up, his voice much calmer and sane-sounding than Sam's, "Trevor refused to do whatever bad things the demon told him to do. In fact, according to Brother Frank, that's why Trevor joined your church. He didn't want to be a killer."

"So the demon killed him because of it," Jennifer summed up.

"Yep."

"And I saw it happen in my nightmare. Trevor tried to get away, but the demon moved faster than he could. And it ended weird. The demon shoved his own arm out in front of him and held it there, and Trevor suddenly just…froze. Then he dropped to the floor, dead."

"Yellow Eyes is pretty high up on the demon food chain. He can do crap like that without a problem," Dean told her. "He must have stopped the poor guy's heart with that demon mind control thing he's got goin' on."

She exhaled loudly. "I've been having this nightmare since a couple of days before Trevor died, but I'd never been able to see the man's eyes until last night." Her own gray-blue ones grew a tad misty. She blinked fast. "It was always too hazy to see much of anything. Until now. Now that it's too late to save Trevor."

"Well, that may be true," Dean said, "but at least we can piece things together now."

Lost in his own thoughts, Sam simply nodded.

"Trevor knew the demon was coming for him, so he listened to Brother Frank's advice and took some precautions, like salting entrances and beginning the anti-reaper ritual. Only Yellow Eyes showed up before he could finish, and he wasted him with his demonic mind powers. That explains the sulfur on the window."

"And the stopped clocks?"

"Trevor's dead. A reaper was obviously hanging around the place waiting to take him." Dean shrugged his shoulders. "Everything lines up. Case closed."

Jennifer was not completely satisfied. "Really?"

"Trevor Bradley's gone," Dean said. "There's nothing we can do to change that. So, yeah. It's over."

She nodded. "So my feeling was right. He didn't die of natural causes. His death felt evil for a reason."

"Yep," Dean agreed. "You were pretty spot on. You should be proud of yourself."

Yes. She _should_ have been proud.

It would have been normal for her to have felt more confident in her precognitive abilities. She should have felt more at peace about her sanity. She should have been encouraged by the validation of her lifelong belief in demons and reapers and other supernatural entities.

She _should_ have felt closure.

Instead, Jennifer Bane felt an unsettling twinge of fear rising inside her. An inexplicable sense of dread. She felt as if she had just opened Pandora's box and unleashed an unknown evil. That she, like Alice, had just begun a long descent into the rabbit-hole.


	5. 1x1, V: The Vision

_Room Twelve,_

_Econo Lodge._

Dean stood in the doorway of the motel room, watching as Jennifer backed her Honda Accord out of its parking space. Maybe because he was being friendly; maybe because he wanted to make sure she didn't hit his Impala.

Safely out from between the white lines, she shifted into drive and gave him a quick wave before speeding away.

He waved back and closed the door. He frowned when he saw his younger brother. Sam was still brooding at the edge of the bed. "Who peed in your Lucky Charms?" Dean asked him.

Sam's shoulders slumped.

"Seriously, dude." Dean planted himself in a chair. "What's your problem?"

"You really have to ask?"

Dean just shrugged.

"It's just…I don't know," Sam faltered. "We can't get away from this. All this stuff with the psychic children. The demon. It just follows us around." He twiddled his thumbs as he spoke. "I said before that we couldn't run from this, but I didn't know just how true that was. It really is…inevitable."

"What are you talking about?"

"Dean, we didn't come to Antioch by chance. Learning about Trevor, a telepath killed by Yellow Eyes? And meeting Jennifer, a girl with nightmares and premonitions? That wasn't chance either."

"Oh, come on," Dean snarled. "Did you ever think that maybe Jennifer doesn't fit the pattern at all because she's not one of _them_? Whoever the hell _they _are?"

"You're kidding, right?"

"Sam, she's just some innocent little Jesus freak church girl who was practically born on a pew. She feels guilty for lying to fake detectives. You seriously think she's capable of becoming some kinda monster?"

"Max Miller was. And Ansem Weems. And apparently Ava, too."

"That's different!"

"How?"

"We found Ava's ring at the scene of her fiancée's murder. That doesn't mean she's a killer."

"Nice sidestep around Max and Ansem," Sam retorted.

"Well, Trevor wasn't a killer either. He did everything he could to keep from doing what the demon wanted him to."

"And look what happened to him."

Dean had no response.

"My point is, we're back on Yellow Eyes's trail, and that's no coincidence either. Something's going on. It's like we're walking right into the middle of his plans. Like we're being toyed with, manipulated by Yellow Eyes to do exactly what he wants." He swallowed. "It's all part of his plan for me."

Dean rolled his eyes with a huff. "If I have to hear that damn speech from you one more time, I swear I'm gonna-"

"What?" Sam threw his hands into the air. "Kill me?"

For the first time in a long time, Dean held his tongue as he glowered at his brother. He finally replied, "Evil mastermind plans or not, Yellow Eyes just wasted another good man. He's still out there, and he's still wreaking his havoc." He firmly clenched his jaw. "And I'm still gonna kill the son of a bitch."

Sam nodded silently in agreement.

* * *

_That night._

Dean took an extra long sip of beer to wash down the oversized bite of bacon cheeseburger he had just swallowed. "Ahhhh." He set the bottle down on the retro-style diner table with a clink. "So. Where to now, Sammy?"

Sam winced as he watched his older brother shove the last of the cheeseburger into his mouth. His cheeks stretched to accommodate the heart attack on a bun. "Besides the dessert menu?"

Dean grinned.

Sam made a face at the repulsive combination of ketchup, mayonnaise, and one onion shred stuck in the right corner of Dean's mouth. "You've gotta a little…something…on your face."

"Just savin' it for later," Dean joked. He dabbed his mouth with a napkin. "Anyway. We've got nowhere to be. I was thinking you might like to stick around here in Antioch a few more days and spend a little more time with Jennifer. I may not have a thing for prude chicks, but I know you sure do."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"You've already got the psychic connection. I'll bet you could form some other connections, too."

"Please."

"Hey. You're the one who said she was hot."

Sam frowned.

"Go for it, Sammy. You hit that."

"Classy, Dean."

Dean just laughed and gulped down some more beer.

"Actually, I was thinking about-" Sam stopped in mid-sentence when a searing pain shot through his skull. His hands impulsively rose to his temples.

Dean's smile faded. "Hey, you okay?"

"Ah!" Sam groaned, grabbing his forehead.

_A round, stained glass window. A pulpit. A church sanctuary. _

A vision.

He jumped up from the table.

_A church altar. A man kneeling at the altar._

Sam collapsed to his knees.

"Sam!" Dean hollered, coming to his side.

Sam felt the warmth of his brother's hands on his shoulders.

"Sammy, can you hear me?"

The black and white checkered floor beneath him faded along with Dean's voice.

His vision took control:

_"Don't let me die, Lord!"_

_The curly-haired man's cry was shrill, painful to his own ears. He cringed when it screamed back at him, taunting him as it echoed throughout the empty church sanctuary. He dropped his face into the burgundy carpet that covered the church altar and wept._

_"I don't want to die." He closed his eyes, his vision blurred by his tears. " God, don't let me die."_

_He clutched the nine-inch antique silver crucifix, the one that had previously been nothing more to him than a tacky wall decoration, and felt it slipping from his sweaty hands. He squeezed it until his knuckles went white._

_Suddenly startled, the man jumped. He'd heard something, and now he felt it. A presence, an unholy one, had entered the place. It was coming closer. _

_It was coming for him._

_The sanctuary was dark, too shadowy to see anything, but he could feel it approaching. He could sense its nearing steps. He could smell its repulsive stench._

_Then he saw it, its outline defined by the blue-green light streaming through the stained glass window mounted above the bapistry. Its ruby eyes met his. _

_Everything froze but his frantic heart._

_He pleaded for his life as the figure seized him. _

_The crucifix fell to the floor, drenched in warm blood. _

Dean's worried face came into view. "Sammy!"

A waitress and the manager on duty now stood next to him, looking equally concerned.

"Sam." Dean helped him to his feet and back into the chair. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Sam breathed, rubbing his forehead. The pain eased into a dull throb. "I'm fine now."

"He's fine, thanks," Dean told the restaurant staff. "Just a migraine." They walked away, leaving the brothers alone. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Sam nodded. "But we've gotta save him," he whispered.

"Who?"

"Brother Frank." Sam's headache was gone. He relaxed in his seat. "The associate pastor."

"What?"

"It was him in my vision. Something with red eyes, a demon, maybe, killed him on the church altar."

Dean's brow knitted as he stared into his brother's eyes. "What the hell is going on in this town?"


	6. 1x2, I: Black Dog

**A/N:**. This is the second story of _The Good Fight_, "Hell's Bells." Each story is five chapters long, (I know I'm extremely lame, but I like to write in the style of an episode with commercial breaks...) and I'm posting them collectively under the series title. Thank you guys SO much for reading! And as always, I really appreciate any feedback you guys can offer. Thanks!

* * *

"**Hell's Bells"**

**

* * *

  
**

_Antioch, Alabama,_

_Sixteen hours ago._

A canine howl roused Frank Linton from his dreams once more just before three o'clock Tuesday morning.

Forgetting about the possibility of waking his wife, he bolted from the mattress, threw a forest green bathrobe over his sleep clothes, and took off down the hallway, tripping over a house plant as he went. His big toe now pulsed with pain, thanks to the thick ceramic pot. He tried to ignore his throbbing toe and the pile of soil his collision had created as he continued toward the back part of his L-shaped two-bedroom home.

He reached the kitchen and didn't bother with the light switch. He moved to the window above the sink that overlooked the backyard. In the solid darkness of the warm spring night, he saw nothing. But seconds later, he heard another obnoxious wail from the unseen dog, this one more guttural than the first.

Frank moved to the backdoor and flipped on the porch light. He leaned forward as he peered through the glass door, hoping to get a better look.

He did. The beam of the outdoor light reflected off of two round, menacing eyes, and the profile of a large black dog came into view.

"That's it, I'm calling animal control," Frank muttered to himself as he cut off the porch light.

He heard soft footsteps from behind. "Frank?" Martha, his redheaded wife of twenty-two years, appeared in the doorway of the kitchen and flicked on the light. "Is something wrong?"

Frank chewed on his bottom lip. "That stupid mutt's back again."

"Oh, goodness." She glanced out the window and saw nothing but black. "It's probably Mr. Willis' Rottweiler. He needs to put that thing on a good, strong chain."

"I'm calling animal control in the morning," Frank repeated for his new audience. "It's not safe to let big dogs like that one just wander around."

Martha nodded.

* * *

_About an hour ago._

Tuesday was almost over, and Associate Pastor Frank Linton dreaded nightfall. He sat in his office at New Hope Community Church, behind the locked door, open Bible in his trembling hands. He told himself to focus on the red letters before him, but his mind wouldn't listen. He couldn't concentrate.

There it was again.

That dreadfully familiar canine howl, this time even closer.

He allowed his eyes to wander from the Scriptures to the window behind him.

He gasped as his gaze met that of the giant black dog, as those malicious red eyes stared into his. The creature growled and curled its thin lips back, revealing dozens of razors protruding from its glistening pink gums.

_KNOCK, KNOCK!_

Frank flinched and nearly fell from his chair.

_"Hey, man, we're heading out."_ The voice through his closed door belonged to Ron Moreland, the senior pastor at New Hope. _"Are you okay?"_

Frank took a second to get his bearings. Ron's knock had more than startled him. He jumped up from his seat and hurried to the door, but he didn't unlock it. No. Definitely not.

He strained to find his voice. "Of course," he spoke through the door. He cleared his throat. "I'm fine."

_"Listen, Frank, you seem a little…" _Ron paused, choosing his words carefully. _"If something's bothering you, you can talk to me. You're my friend, and I want to help-"_

Frank managed to swallow. "No, no, I'm perfectly fine." No matter how much he tried to steady it, his voice quivered. "You go on home, and I'll be right behind you as soon as I finish up my…my Bible study."

The room went silent. _"Well…alright." _Ron sounded unconvinced, but he meddled no further._ "Take care of yourself, okay, buddy? Call me if you need anything."_

"Yeah, okay." Frank tried once more to clear his throat. "See you Sunday." He listened as Ron's footsteps grew quieter and quieter, then finally, inaudible. He was alone.

Except for the red-eyed creature snarling at him through the window.


	7. 1x2, II: Not a Monster

_Time to Eat Diner,_

_Antioch, Alabama._

Sam Winchester was recovering from a psychic vision.

He sat across the table from his older brother, rubbing his forehead as his intense headache dulled into a throb.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Dean asked again, studying his brother's face carefully.

Sam nodded. "But we've gotta save him."

"Who?"

"Brother Frank." Sam's headache was gone. He relaxed in his seat. "The associate pastor."

"What?"

"It was him in my vision. Something with red eyes, a demon, maybe, killed him on the church altar."

Dean's brow knitted as he stared into his brother's eyes. "What the hell is going on in this town?"

"I don't know. But we need to act fast." Sam backed away from the table and stood to his feet. "The way my visions have been lately, who knows how much time we have."

Dean nodded in agreement and followed him out the door.

* * *

After being dismissed from her last class of the day at Hamilton State University, Jennifer Bane decided to take the long way home. She needed to think about what had happened over the past couple of days, and a quiet drive on lesser traveled back roads provided the perfect opportunity to do so.

She guided her maroon Accord down tree-lined highways, paying little attention to the lovely mountainous scenery that surrounded her. Her mind was elsewhere, focused on her feelings, her nightmares, and Trevor Bradley. Demons. Demon hunters. Important demons with yellow eyes.

It all felt like one of those weird dreams of hers. Not reality.

_Her_ reality consisted of college finals, graduation, long shifts at Gene's Restaurant, and overdue rent. Intense family disputes and problems in the romance department. Finding a job after school. Finding a husband before her grandmother officially declared her an old maid.

Her life was stressful enough without the addition of the supernatural.

Jennifer's premonitions and prophetic dreams had been a part of her life for over fifteen years, so she was somewhat accustomed to the unexplainable. And being the devout Christian and deeply spiritual person that she was, she had opened her mind to possibilities of the unknown.

But here it was, all at once. A telepathic college student killed by some head-honcho demon. A group of psychics mysteriously connected to one another. Demons, reapers, spirits, and vampires, all real, all a genuine threat to humanity.

It was a bit overwhelming.

Strangely, though, the most troubling part of the whole ordeal was the fear growing inside her. Something had changed when she had last spoken with Dean and Sam. She had been overtaken by a sense of uneasiness. A sense of dread.

Jennifer had been driving for about fifteen minutes when flashes of blue and red lights in the distance caught her attention.

She slowed the car as the several sets of lights grew nearer. Her stomach did a cartwheel as she realized where she was- New Hope Community Church.

A rush of anxiety swept over her as she stared at the now visible police cars and ambulance parked outside her place of worship. She recognized a couple of other vehicles on site as well. Pastor Ron's station wagon and Brother Frank's gold Bronco.

Her breath caught in her throat. Something was very wrong.

Half a dozen onlookers had gathered in the church parking lot, watching the display before them in disbelief. Two officers held the sanctuary doors open as a couple of coroners carried out a six-feet-long dark bag.

That was all it took. Jennifer pulled the Accord to the far side of the lot, parked, and approached the crowd. Pastor Ron's wife, Sara, stood among them. Jennifer's heart hammered as she reached her side. "Sara." She gulped. "What's going on?"

Sara faced her, but her gray eyes dropped to the pavement. She shook her head, incredulous. "Brother Frank is dead."

* * *

The Impala rumbled into the New Hope Community Church parking lot and came to a stop behind a light-colored sedan. Dean removed the key from the ignition and looked at his brother.

Sam's distraught face was illuminated by the alternating blue and red lights of the emergency vehicles. He didn't return the glance. He clenched his jaw as he reached for the door handle and jerked it. He climbed out and headed toward the crowd of people.

Dean followed and caught up to Sam as he squeezed between an elderly gentleman and a middle-aged woman to get a better view of the scene.

"Sam!" a female voice cried out. "Dean!"

The brothers glanced up, searching for the voice's origin. They quickly spotted it. Jennifer Bane was pushing toward them through the crowd.

They met her halfway and stepped aside from the mob.

"What's going on?" Dean asked. He couldn't help but notice the lack of color in her face. The fear in her wide, gray-blue eyes.

Her lower lip quivered as she answered him. "The, um, the associate pastor died."

Sam dropped his shoulders and stared at the pavement.

"Anyone know what happened to him?" Dean questioned her.

She shook her head. "He never came home from his office here at the church, and his wife was worried." She stopped. "She came here to check on him…and found him…torn apart…on the altar."

Sam nodded and glanced at Dean, fighting to control his overwhelming mix of emotions. "Just like my vision."

Jennifer gulped. "You had a vision about this?"

"Yep. Wasn't even twenty minutes ago," Dean filled her in.

"Oh my gosh." She looked as if she might cry. "What the heck is going on here?"

Dean heaved a sigh. "I wish I knew." He shoved his hands into his pockets. "What's his wife's name?"

"Martha." She tried her best to discreetly point at the red-haired woman clinging to a taller blonde lady, weeping. "Martha Linton. That's her, the redhead." Jennifer lowered her voice. "Sam, was it the demon with the yellow eyes? Did he kill Brother Frank?"

Sam shook his head. "No. I don't think so."

"But this has gotta be related to Trevor's death somehow," she said. "It has to be."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "It can't be a coincidence."

"So, uh, Jennifer," Sam spoke up. "What are _you_ doing here?"

His tone startled both Dean and Jennifer.

Sam sounded a little accusatory, but Jennifer tried not to take it personally. "I was on my way home from class, and I saw all the commotion. Pastor Ron's and Brother Frank's cars were here, so I stopped." She narrowed her eyes. "What about you?"

"We came here as soon as I had the vision."

She exhaled loudly. "There's gotta be something we can do."

"'Fraid not," Dean told her. "But I'd recommend getting some rest. You look like you haven't slept in days."

Jennifer said nothing.

"Seriously." Dean attempted to comfort her. "Don't let all this crap get to you, okay?"

Softly, she replied, "I think it's a little late for that."

* * *

"What was that all about?" Dean demanded an answer from his brother as they trudged across the parking lot toward the Impala.

"What?"

"What you said to Jennifer. You subtly accused her of killing the guy."

Sam sighed. "Come on, Dean. It just makes sense," he said quietly. "Two men connected to her die under mysterious circumstances. She was at both crime scenes. She's connected to the yellow-eyed demon…"

"So, you're really saying she killed them?" Dean made a face. "Trevor Bradley and this guy?"

"I'm saying it's possible."

"That's ridiculous."

"No, Dean, it's not. Not when you stop and think about it," Sam went on. "She could be lying. About everything. She could be playing us."

"Since when are you some sort of paranoid conspiracy theorist?"

"Dean. This could be part of the demon's plans for me."

Dean turned away and rolled his eyes. "Even if all that's true, and she's been lying to us, you said you sawthe thing that killed the associate pastor in your vision. Some kinda red-eyed creature. That description doesn't exactly fit Jennifer to a T."

"Maybe it wasn't her," Sam said, coming to a stop behind the Impala. "Maybe that was some kind of demon, and she's controlling it, like Meg and the daevas."

That did it. Dean couldn't bite his tongue any longer. "Okay. Seriously, Sam. This has gotta stop. Ever since Brother Frank told us about Trevor, since Jennifer mentioned Yellow Eyes, you haven't been able to think straight. All this stuff about his plans for you, the freakin' psychic children, it's controlling you."

Sam leaned against the trunk of the car. "Of course it is, Dean. It's kind of a huge deal."

"It's kind of a huge pile of crap, if you ask me," Dean countered. "There's no rule that people with special abilities are doomed to become demon warriors. There's no destiny, no master plan, nothing."

"But Dad said-"

"I know what Dad said. Maybe the guy's morphine drip was turned up too high, I don't know." Dean gazed into Sam's eyes. "But I do know one thing. Trevor wasn't a monster. Jennifer's not a monster." He paused dramatically. "_You're _not a monster. And you're not gonna turn into one."

Sam turned his eyes to the pavement.

"This whole thing is distracting us from what we should be worried about. Wasting the thing that killed Frank Linton." Dean pulled his keys from his pocket and twirled the key ring around his index finger. "We'll come back tomorrow and get ourselves a nice, long look at that altar." He strolled toward the car door, but Sam didn't move. "Okay, Sam?"

The younger Winchester stood upright. "I know you're trying to help, and I see your point. Really, I do."

Silence.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "But?"

"But…I'd feel better if we took a look around Jennifer's place." His eyes met Dean's. "Just to be sure."

"Sam-"

Sam looked at him imploringly. "Dean, please."

Dean heaved a sigh. Sam and his blasted puppy dog face. "Fine."

* * *

Sam exited Jennifer Bane's one and only bathroom and entered the master bedroom to find his older brother leaning over an open dresser drawer. "What the hell are you doing?" Sam asked him.

Dean glanced up quickly and closed the drawer. "Just being thorough."

Sam's eyebrows jumped up. "Was that her underwear drawer?"

"No," Dean answered, turning his back to him. "How perverted do you think I am?"

Sam avoided the question. "Have you found anything? Other than…things you shouldn't be finding?"

"You mean like some sulfur and a goblet full of blood? A black altar? Maybe a creepy clown mural and knives stuck in victims' photos?" Dean asked, leading the way down the hall to the living room. "Nope. Nothing. The place is clean. And I mean _clean_. I've never been in a place this organized."

Sam nodded in agreement as he glanced about the small apartment. Everything was in its proper space. There wasn't a speck of dust to be found. That, plus the stylish, well-coordinated décor, made the place cover material for _Better Homes and Gardens_.

"Everything in her fridge is labeled, everything in her cabinets is labeled, the clothes in her closet are organized by color, and her DVDs are categorized by genre and title. She's into mostly horror flicks, by the way. A big fan of M. Night Shyamalan," Dean said. "And _Smallville_. She owns every single season."

"Huh." Sam approached the only messy thing in the entire apartment- the couch and coffee table. Both were littered with college textbooks and spiral-bound notebooks filled with pages of neatly-written lecture notes. Sam read a few book titles aloud. "_Journalism in America_. _Media, Culture, and the Environment_. _Writing for Mass Media_. Looks like she's a journalism major."

"Yep. Didn't the pastor say she's minoring in a drama?"

Sam picked up an open textbook to see its cover. _Advanced Improvisational Acting Techniques_. "Must have." He glanced over her notes. "You know, Dean, this looks like a pretty helpful book. We could probably pick up some tips from it."

"Sorry, Sam, but we don't exactly have time right now for a study session."

Sam set the book down.

"Another Bible," Dean commented, cocking his head toward the leather book on the end table. "I've found like five of them throughout the place, plus a shelf full of Christian devotionals. Doesn't exactly scream demon-summoning killer to me." Dean came to a halt in front of the compact disc tower next to her stereo. He whistled. "And she's got good taste in music. Check it out, man. Aerosmith, Boston, AC/DC." He grinned. "This chick is okay."

Sam's lips finally curved into a tiny smile when he noticed a purposefully hidden copy of 'N sync's_ No Strings Attached _sticking out from behind _The Essential Heart_. "I think you're right."

"Yeah." Dean gave him a brotherly slap on the back. "What'd I tell you, Sammy? She's no monster. You've got nothing to worry about."


	8. 1x2, III: Hell on a Sled

_New Hope Community Church,_

_Antioch, Alabama._

The Winchester brothers left their modest, double occupancy room at the Econo Lodge a little before ten o'clock Wednesday morning, hoping to inspect the sanctuary of New Hope Community Church without, as Dean called it, "police interference."

In other words, without getting caught.

Lucky for them, the small-town officials were gone when they reached the red brick structure about seven minutes later.

New Hope Community Church looked about like any other traditional Protestant church in America. Four lofty white Doric columns held up a matching white pediment, and above that, a white cross-topped steeple made of wood pointed to the heavens.

What set the church apart was its backdrop- the breathtaking blue-green mountains, the foothill of the Appalachians, the treasure of northern Alabama.

With the help of Sam's handy lock picking kit, the brothers let themselves inside the tall double doors and entered the vestibule.

Sam shivered as they ambled down the nave, taking in their surroundings. Everything was exactly as it had been in his vision, from the beautiful stained glass rose window above the bapistry to the burgundy carpet to the bloodied altar, the now taped-off area where the body had been discovered.

"Props to the decorating committee." Dean's remark echoed throughout the open space. He lowered his voice. "Burgundy carpet. Nice choice. Makes the blood seem less noticeable. Which is good, because a bloodied altar kinda puts a damper on the whole 'get right with God' bit, don't you think?"

Sam glared at him as they moved closer to the scene of the crime. They stopped a few feet away from the police line and gaped at the darkened areas of carpet…everywhere. The entire altar was spattered and streaked and speckled with bloodstains. A large, dried pool of crimson to the left of the pulpit marked the location where most of the body had been. The air reeked of its coppery scent.

"Yikes." Dean grimaced. "He was ripped apart." He glanced up at Sam. "What _exactly _did you see in your vision, again?"

Sam closed his eyes and conjured up the memory. "Just a dark figure. With these…intensely red eyes. It might have been an animal. I'm not sure." His eyes opened. "But it certainly wasn't human."

"Well," Dean said. "whatever it was, it went to town on Fred Linton."

"Frank, Dean. His name was Frank."

"What'd I say?"

"You said Fred."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Anyway, I've got a feeling that Frank-"

One of the front doors creaked opened behind them. The two of them whipped around to find a tall, slender, thirty-ish man clad in khakis and a red polo. His dark brown hair had been meticulously styled with gel into short, stylish spikes.

"Can I help you?" the man asked, moving down the center aisle toward them.

"Oh, uh, sorry, sir, we didn't mean to intrude," Dean said. He and Sam stepped away from the altar and met him in the middle of the church. "We just stopped in to… pray, and well, we saw all of… this." Nervously, Dean cleared his throat. "It was kind of distracting."

The man folded his arms across his torso. "How'd you get inside?"

"Door was open," Dean continued with the lies, hoping he didn't appear as worried as he felt.

He frowned. "I'm sorry, but this is a crime scene. The cops-"

Sam cut him off. "Are _you_ a cop?"

He hesitated. "No. I'm the student minister. Craig Yackler." Embarrassed, Craig's perfectly oval face flushed the palest shade of pink. "I suppose I shouldn't be here either." He took in a long breath and blew it out. "But I came here to pray, too. To reflect on what's happened."

"And what exactly is that?" Dean pried, wanting to hear the man's side of the story.

"Our associate pastor passed away last night." Craig slowly sank into a nearby pew, and the brothers followed suit. "The police think a Rottweiler or something got into the church and attacked him."

Sam arched his eyebrows. "A Rottweiler? Why?"

"There's been a big black dog hanging around the church lately," the student minister said. "And apparently, it was here yesterday."

"Apparently?" Sam repeated. "You didn't see it?"

"I didn't, but Frank did." The man gnawed on his lip. "But I don't know what to think about it. There were no signs of entry. No way any dog that size could have gotten in." His brown eyes widened. "The doors were locked. All of them. You know a Rottweiler that can unlock a door?"

Dean and Sam exchanged glances.

"But what else could have done it?" Craig went on. "What else would have… torn him up like that?" He swallowed. "Anyway, that's why I'm here. A minister breaking the law." He tried to smile. "I just needed to be alone with God to sort things out."

"I'm so sorry," Sam told him. "I guess you and the associate pastor were pretty close."

"Oh, yes. We're a tight staff. I've been here for thirteen years, and Frank served alongside me for nearly ten of them." Craig drifted into a gloomy memoriam. "He was a good man. A good friend. He did so much for the Lord in the time I knew him." His lower lip quivered with emotion. "For him to go like that…" He paused. "It's just not right."

"Were you here when it happened?" Sam broke in.

"No. I left at five, like always, with the rest of the staff," the student minister replied. "But Frank stayed behind."

"Well." Dean slapped his knee. "I think we'll go now. Sorry for bothering you. We didn't mean to impose." He stood to his feet. Sam and Craig did the same.

"It's alright," Craig Yackler said. "It was quite a pleasure, actually, to run into two young men seeking the Lord." He smiled. "I've never seen you in the congregation before. Are you new in town?"

"Just passing through," Dean answered.

"Ah. Well, if you're gonna be around tonight, our service is at six. We're planning something special in Frank's memory."

"That sounds nice." Sam smiled. "We'll try to make it."

"Please do," the student minister responded. "We'd love to have you."

"We'll be there. With bells on." Dean beat it toward the exit, ushering Sam along with him. He gave the preacher a little wave as they disappeared into the parking lot.

"We just lied in a church," Sam told his older brother as the door closed behind them. "We're going to Hell on a sled."

Dean half-grinned. "I think Frank Linton did."

"It did kind of sound that way, didn't it? I could tell in my vision that Frank was running from whatever killed him. He knew he was about to die. Something chased him into the sanctuary, and he locked the doors to keep it out."

"Yep. A big black dog that nobody saw but Frank."

"Exactly." Sam sighed before he continued. "I think it was a hellhound, coming to collect. That's how it got through the locked door, and that's why only Frank could see it."

"Mm-hmm. But this is an associate pastor we're talking about. I'm pretty sure selling your soul to the Devil is frowned upon by the church."

"Maybe he did it out of desperation. Like that guy back at, uh, Lloyd's Bar…Evan Hudson."

"Yeah, he sold his soul to save his dying wife." Dean yanked out his keys and unlocked the Impala. "Well, I guess we've gotta find out what made Frank go all Dr. Faustus."

* * *

_Gene's Restaurant._

Unlike most Wednesdays before noon, Gene's Restaurant had very few customers.

This was both good and bad for Jennifer Bane.

Good because she was too tired to cover several tables, since she had slept only three hours the night before.

Bad because with no diners to keep her busy, Frank Linton's death ruled her thoughts, just as they had the previous night when they had replaced her slumber.

Gene's Restaurant was a little place, made up of no more than ten simple, square, melamine tables and a single row of wooden barstools. The décor was rustic. Homey. Selected by Gene himself. He was a retired fireman, and it showed. A fire-truck-printed wallpaper border ran across the tops of the walls. Mounted on those walls were several handmade wooden shelves, each one displaying miscellaneous fire house themed knickknacks, everything from fire-hydrant-shaped cookie jars to teapots to paperweights. Even fire-truck-patterned valances topped the windows facing Third Street.

Presently, a man and woman, probably in their late sixties, sat at a corner table, enjoying a late breakfast of pancakes. A lanky, blonde-haired fellow took up one of the seven barstools lining the counter. That was it.

After refilling the lanky man's iced tea, Jennifer grabbed a clean cloth from the kitchen and began wiping down the already spotless tables, just to give herself something to do.

The cowbell, painted to look like a fire hydrant, on the front door jangled.

Jennifer glanced up from the tabletop she was scrubbing and recognized the two attractive young men entering the door. Sam and Dean.

"Hey," she greeted the men with a wave. They waved and smiled back. "Have a seat wherever you'd like."

"Thanks," Sam said.

She watched as they chose a window table, and she followed behind them with menus and silverware in hand.

"Fancy seeing you here," Dean said, smiling at her as she walked to their table.

"Right back at you." She returned his smile and handed them their menus. "Well, not really. I guess you had to come in sooner or later. There's not too many restaurants to choose from in Antioch."

"You're not wrong. I think we've just about covered them all," Dean said.

After a somewhat awkward moment of silence, Jennifer asked, "Any developments on Brother Frank?"

"Maybe," Sam told her. "We're gonna stick around a little while longer to see."

"Okay. Good." She smiled again. "So. What can I get you to drink?"

"Whatcha got on tap?" Dean inquired.

Jennifer frowned slightly. "Pepsi, Mountain Dew, Sierra Mist, and Dr. Pepper." Upon receiving blank stares, she added. "It's a family restaurant."

"I see. I'll have a glass of tea, then."

"Okay." She turned to Sam. "You?"

"Just ice water for me, thanks," Sam said.

"Okie-dokie." Jennifer smiled once more as she left their table to prepare their drinks.

Dean watched her hips sway as she walked away.

"So," Sam sighed, glancing over the menu. "When are we gonna head over to Martha Linton's place?"

He received no answer.

Sam looked up from the menu and found his brother smiling to himself as he checked Jennifer out. "Dean."

"Yeah?"

"Dean, look at me." He lowered his voice. "Stop trying figure out which pair of underwear she's wearing."

That got Dean's attention. He turned to Sam with a wounded expression. "…I…wasn't."

"Martha Linton. Is that where we're going next?"

"Yeah, sure."

Jennifer returned with two clear plastic cups filled with liquid and placed them on the table. "Tea and water." She handed them two paper covered straws and smiled slyly. "So, you guys are planning on heading to Martha Linton's house."

Dean felt his cheeks growing a little warm. "Wow, you have…really good ears."

Both brothers wondered what else she had heard.

"Martha won't be home tonight," Jennifer said. "She'll be at church. They're having a special service for Brother Frank."

"Well, we were planning to visit her right after lunch," Sam informed her.

"So was I. I get off at one." She swallowed. "Why don't we go together?"

Dean sipped his tea. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why?" Jennifer asked. "You don't even know her. She's not gonna let just anyone inside."

"You're right. But we'll manage," Dean replied.

"Of course you will," she exhaled. "I forgot. You'll just flash some fake badges and lie your way in."

Dean shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever works."

"Look, I'm headed there anyway," Jennifer persisted. "I baked Martha some cookies this morning. We can say you're my friends from school, you've visited the church a couple of times, and Frank's sermons really changed your lives. Or something."

"Uh…how is your way any better? We still have to lie," Dean pointed out. Then he suavely added, "Oh, I forgot. You're okay with lying. That whole thing about not bearing false witness against your neighbor is really crampin' your style."

Her gray blue eyes narrowed as she frowned at him. "I'm still going over there this afternoon. If I don't go _with_ you, you'll run into me there anyway. And I might just accidentally blow your cover."

Sam grinned as he took a drink of water. Watching his brother getting back-talk from someone like Jennifer was quite amusing.

"You're actually threatening us? Just so you can come along?" Dean was surprised.

"Yep."

"Why?"

"Because I think if we work together, we can figure things out faster."

Dean stifled a laugh. "Sounds good in theory, but I promise you, that's not how it'll work in execution."

She folded her arms across her green apron. "Why not?"

"Well, no offense, sweetheart, but we're kind of on different pages. You don't know why we want to talk to Martha Linton. And if we told you why, well, that'd be an even more complicated, time-consuming process."

"As complicated and time-consuming as this conversation?" she tossed back. "Just tell me. I know what you guys do. I know a little about the supernatural. I learned a lot from Brother Frank himself. If you tell me about your lead, and I don't understand it, then I'll just look and feel stupid. And I'll apologize for wasting your time."

Dean was silent for a while.

Jennifer glanced at Sam.

Sam looked at Dean.

Jennifer turned to Dean once more. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking we should have gone to Arby's for lunch," Dean spat out.

She pulled a chair away from a nearby table and slid it up to theirs. "I know, the service here is crap." She plopped into the chair. "Please tell me."

"Are you familiar with Faustian bargains?" Sam asked her, after a moment's passing.

She nodded. "Selling your soul to the devil."

"Yeah," Sam said. "You make a deal, get whatever it is you want, and in so many years, a hellhound shows up and drags you to Hell."

"Do you think that's what happened to Brother Frank?" Her voice was shockingly calm.

Dean was more surprised than she was. "Pretty much."

"That's why no one but Brother Frank saw the 'Rottweiler.' It was a hellhound." Jennifer shook her head. "Man. It makes sense."

Dean and Sam exchanged glances.

"It does?" Dean asked.

She dipped her head. "I think so. His whole _Knowing Your Enemy_ series? Your theory explains how he knew so much about that kind of stuff. He did his research. Plus, all the details surrounding his death fit perfectly."

"Hey, miss, can I get some more tea over here?" the lanky man at the bar hollered.

"Be there in a second," Jennifer called over her shoulder. She turned back to the brothers. "I'm so sorry. I almost forgot where I was. Are you ready to order?"


	9. 1x2, IV: Nothing Short of a Miracle

_Linton Residence,_

_Just outside Antioch, Alabama._

Frank and Martha Linton owned a two bedroom L-shaped rancher located thirty minutes away from Gene's Restaurant. The simple house, most likely built in the early seventies, was composed of sand colored bricks and a black metal roof. The wooden front door and shutters had been recently painted white. A short sidewalk lined with azalea bushes that had been loaded with beautiful pink blooms just a month earlier connected the home to a gravel driveway, and the leaf-covered branches of a single, centuries-old oak canopied the entire front yard.

Dean eased the Impala down the driveway and stopped in front of the closed door to the garage, a structure added in later years and entirely separate from the house.

"This is a terrible idea," he huffed, shutting off the engine.

"No, it's not," Jennifer corrected him from the backseat. She unbuckled her seatbelt and opened her door.

Everyone climbed out.

"Just try to follow my lead," she instructed them.

"Just try not to drop the freakin' cookies," Dean mocked her.

The three of them trekked across Martha Linton's lawn, with Jennifer carrying the tray of cookies and mentally rehearsing her dialogue. Both brothers were praying that she wouldn't screw things up.

They reached the front door. Dean rang the doorbell.

Less than a minute later, the white door bolted open and revealed a light-skinned, blue-eyed, red-haired woman in her early forties.

It had been dark the previous night in the church parking lot, and Martha Linton had stood a good distance away. Although neither brother had gotten a good look at Martha, Dean assumed the redhead before them now was her. "Mrs. Linton?" he asked before Jennifer had a chance to say anything.

"No," the woman replied in a thick Southern accent. "I'm her sister, Frances Young."

"My bad," Dean apologized. "Is Martha here? We wanted to tell her just how sorry we are about Brother Frank's passing."

"That's awfully kind of you," Frances said, opening the door wider. She moved back, allowing them entrance. "Come on in. She's in the livin' room."

Sam smiled at her as they crossed the threshold into a small foyer. "Thanks."

"Good going," Jennifer muttered to Dean.

Frances led the way into the living area, a cozy space that opened into the dining room. The walls were a pale yellow, accented by white molding and wainscoting. A stone fireplace protruded from the far wall. Across from it sat a worn-in blue and yellow plaid sofa, and on opposite sides of it were two blue recliners. Martha Linton occupied one of them.

She looked remarkably like her sister Frances, only Martha possessed a slightly larger frame and somewhat smaller nose. She stood from her seat the moment they entered the room.

"Jennifer!" Martha greeted her. "How sweet of you to stop by."

"Hey, Martha." The two women embraced. "I'm so sorry about Brother Frank."

Martha simply nodded, her eyes misty.

"Oh, uh, this is Dean and Sam," Jennifer introduced them. "They're friends of mine from school."

"Hello, Mrs. Linton," Dean said, giving the woman his best smile. "We heard about Brother Frank's passing, and we felt…compelled to stop by and give you our deepest condolences."

"Yes, ma'am, that's right," Sam told her. "We're terribly sorry about your loss."

Martha managed a smile. "That's awfully kind of you."

"I brought cookies." Jennifer said, holding up the tray. "Made them myself just this morning. I hope they're edible."

"Good gracious!" Martha exclaimed, eyeing the platter of baked treats. "How thoughtful of you, dear. Thank you."

"Yes, thank you," Frances said. "That was mighty kind."

Jennifer extended the tray, and Frances took it and headed to the kitchen.

"How did you two know Frank?" Martha asked the brothers, resuming her seat. "Go ahead, sit down, please."

Sam, Dean, and Jennifer awkwardly settled onto the plaid couch, with Dean to Martha's close left.

After taking a deep breath, Dean began his practiced monologue. "Well, ma'am, a while back, we were looking for that right place of worship, you know? A church to call home."

Martha nodded, waiting for Dean to go on.

"Jennifer here suggested we visit New Hope Community Church, your church. It just so happened your husband, Brother Frank, was preaching that day." Dean paused here and feigned emotion. "I'd never heard preaching like that. He was just so…on fire for the Lord."

Martha smiled weakly.

Dean cast his eyes downward dramatically. "At that time, I was a lost sheep." He threw in a lip quiver. "And Brother Frank's message brought me back to the flock."

Jennifer silently begged God to spare him from the lightning bolt that was surely about to descend upon him.

"The man changed my life," Dean said, pretending to blink away his tears. "I only wish I'd had the chance to tell him."

Frances reentered the room and seated herself in the empty recliner.

Dean sighed loudly. "I just felt that if I told you…I don't know. That it would be…almost like telling Brother Frank."

Blinking back _real _tears, Martha Linton reached over and squeezed Dean's hand. "Oh," she whimpered. "Bless you."

Sam felt his heart sink for the poor lady.

"You know," Jennifer spoke up. "I never really understood just how real demons are until I heard Brother Frank's _Knowing Your Enemy _series."

"I don't think any of us did," Frances chimed in. "Frank sure knew a lot about all that stuff, and I always thought it was such a wonderful thing that he shared that with other believers. And with such passion."

"Yes," Sam agreed.

Frances smiled, recalling her deceased brother-in-law. "Frank had such a strong passion for God after his healing."

Dean and Sam glanced at each other, then at Jennifer, then back at Frances. "His healing?" they asked in unison.

"Oh yes," Martha nodded. A smile brightened her face. "It was nothing short of a miracle."

* * *

Martha Linton crossed her legs daintily and settled into her recliner. "About fourteen years ago, Frank was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor." She paused. "It was inoperable."

Everyone waited for her to continue.

"Chemo and radiation didn't work." Martha sighed. "The doctors gave him six months."

"Actually, at first it was eight, then they bumped it down to six," Frances added.

"Yes, well, I prayed and prayed for Frank's healing. I'd never prayed so hard in my life. Then I asked Pastor Ron if we could hold a special prayer service for Frank at the church." Martha's smile widened. "Now, at that time, Frank wasn't a believer. I went to church alone. But in a time such as that, you know, Frank realized he needed a miracle, and he finally turned to the Lord."

"Oh, they had a wonderful prayer meeting that night for Frank," Frances piped up, beaming. "Pastor Ron and all the deacons laid hands on him, and just about the whole town, it didn't matter what denomination they were, they came and knelt in the altar and poured their hearts out to Jesus."

"It really was wonderful," Martha said. "A very moving experience, seeing all those people praying for Frank and our family. Jennifer, you probably don't remember that, do you?"

"I do, actually. I was pretty young, but I remember."

"Well, we went back to the doctor's office for another CT scan the next month, and the tumor had grown. It was nearly twice its original size. But I didn't lose faith. I kept praying. The town kept praying." Martha leaned forward and spoke with even more excitement. "And praise God, five months later, He answered our prayers! We went back to the doctor for more tests, and the tumor was gone. Completely gone, like it had never been there!"

Dean glanced at his younger brother, who stared back for a brief moment. They both tried to act delighted by the women's story, but they were sure their skepticism was evident.

"After that, Frank did everything he could to serve the Lord," Martha said. "He got saved, he was baptized, then he ended up as the associate pastor!"

"Just like you said, Dean." Frances turned to the Winchesters. "He was on fire for God, burnin' strong."

"Yes, he's burning alright," Dean muttered, keeping a smile on his face. The women did not seem to hear his comment.

Jennifer and Sam did. They both reacted with quiet sighs.

"That's such a touching story," Sam told the women. "We had no idea Brother Frank had been through something like that."

"Yes, it's quite a testimony." Martha uncrossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap.

"It sure is." Jennifer smiled. "But I'm afraid we've gotta get going. We know you've got a lot going on, and we wouldn't want to get in the way."

"Oh, nonsense," Martha said. "It was just so nice of you to stop by."

Jennifer stood to her feet as she asked, "Is there anything we can do to help you out?"

"No, no," Frances replied. "But thank you."

"I do hope you'll be at the memorial service," Martha said to them.

"We wouldn't miss it," Jennifer responded.

Dean rose from the sofa. "Well, it was a real blessing to speak with you ladies."

"For us too," Martha said. She and Frances stood up as well, and she pulled Jennifer into a hug. "I guess we'll see you tonight at the service." She hugged the men as well.

"Yeah," Dean said, following Jennifer and Sam to the door with Martha and Frances by his side. "Bye."

"Goodbye," the women chorused.

* * *

Dean slid his hands into the pockets of his brown leather jacket, shaking his head in dismay as they strolled to the Impala. "That poor woman," he said. "She actually believes all her prayers were worth something."

Sam hesitated before softly saying, "They _were_ worth something."

Dean's eyes shot up at him. "What? God didn't answer her prayers. We know for a fact that, although the whole damn town of Antioch came together to pray for the guy, his CT scan showed the tumor had _grown_." They reached the Impala, but they didn't get inside. "It wasn't 'til he struck the deal that _poof! _the tumor was gone."

"Dean, just because God didn't heal Frank doesn't mean He didn't answer their prayers," Jennifer told him. Her voice sounded a little deflated. "Sometimes His answer is 'no.'"

He looked at her, incredulous. "Well, what kinda screwy answer is that?"

Jennifer looked away and tugged on the door handle. It was locked. "He's God, not Santa Claus. He can give whatever answer He thinks is best."

Dean said nothing as he leaned in to unlock the car. He opened the door for her and walked away.

She climbed inside the backseat as the brothers assumed their usual positions inside the car- Dean behind the wheel and Sam riding shotgun.

"So," Sam said. "Frank's baptism, his ministry. I guess those were his attempts at salvation. He was trying to do anything he could for God in hopes that he'd be saved from his deal."

"I would think so," Jennifer replied. "But apparently, it didn't work out for him."

"That's another thing." Dean made eye contact with Jennifer in the rearview mirror. "If God has such almighty power, why didn't He just void Frank's contract?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. Maybe because of Frank's motives."

"His motives?"

"He sold his soul to the devil, all the while knowing the price it would cost him. Then he runs to God as a last resort, hoping He'll take pity on him and save him." She exhaled loudly. "That's kind of like cheating on your wife right in front of her and expecting her to take you back. It just doesn't happen."

"I guess so. But allowing somebody to be killed like that and sent to Hell because of something as insignificant as motive?" Dean placed the key in the ignition. "That's pretty heartless." The Impala came to life with a thunderous vroom.

"Yeah, well, it's no use trying to figure out why God does things the way He does, Dean," Jennifer sighed. "Stop trying to."

* * *

Several minutes later, Dean pulled off Highway 24 and steered into the parking lot of Wayne's Gas 'n' Go.

"Snack break already, Dean?" Sam inquired, only halfway kidding.

Dean shook his head. "Car's out of pushwater." The Impala rolled to a stop beside the pump closest to the building. He cut off the engine and jerked open his door. "Gotta fill her up if we're gonna make it back into town." He exited the vehicle.

Sam and Jennifer sat in somewhat uncomfortable silence as they watched Dean swipe his fake credit card and select the appropriate fuel grade.

Just then, a 3-door liftback Toyota Yaris in lemon yellow swerved into the parking lot and came to a stop on the opposite side of the gas pump. The driver's side door opened, and a familiar-looking young man emerged from the tiny car- a handsome guy with curly brown hair and a big, crooked nose. He was wearing a gray fitted t-shirt with a giant shamrock printed on the front.

It was the judgmental, environmentally-conscious guy from the Arby's parking lot. The one who'd accused Dean and Sam of being gay, among other things.

Dean recognized him immediately and groaned. "You've gotta be kidding me."

Their eyes met. The guy frowned and forgot about the gas pump. "You again."

"I was thinking the same thing," Dean retorted dryly. "Where's your little friend?"

As if on cue, the right car door opened and Big-Nose's short and stocky friend with the over the top country accent got out.

Dean dipped his head to acknowledge the guy's presence. He glanced at the miniature automobile. "So. Is it time for your annual tank fill-up?"

The frown on Big-Nose's face doubled in intensity. "Is it time for your _daily _fill-up?"

Short and Stocky grinned. "Oooh, good 'un, Jay!"

"Yeah." Dean sighed, wishing the pump would click off any second now so he could leave. "Real clever."

Big-Nose, whose name was apparently 'Jay', stared at the Impala. His eyes suddenly widened in surprise. "The girl in your backseat…is that-"

Dean looked over his shoulder and through the glass at Jennifer, who was oblivious to the situation going on outside the car. "Oh, her?" He tapped the window. Jennifer glanced up and gasped. "Yeah. My…life partner and I have taken on a, uh, well, a third party." Dean winked at Jennifer as he gave her a little wave.

The left rear car door flew open. Jennifer climbed out of the Impala as fast as she could. "Jay! Brian!" she greeted the two guys.

Dean's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "You…know them?" he asked her.

She nodded hesitantly.

Sam got out of the Impala and came to Dean's side.

"Jennifer, you know…_them_?" Jay's eyes were so wide they looked as if they might pop from his head. "_Them_?"

"Yeah, I do," she said. She nervously glanced back and forth from one young man to another. Her eyes stopped on the Winchesters. "Uh, yeah, this is Jay O'Hanegan and Brian Rodney. Jay, Brian, this is Dean and Sam. They're…friends of mine."

"_Friends_?" Jay repeated, seething with anger. "What in the world are you doing with these…these…I don't even know what to call them."

"Sinners," Brian piped up with a twang.

Dean simply rolled his eyes.

Jennifer was surprised by the rude accusation. "Sinners?"

"These two seem to think that Dean and I are…gay," Sam informed her. He winced as he added, "Together."

"What?" Jennifer couldn't help but laugh. "That's ridiculous." She turned to Jay and Brian. "Sam and Dean are brothers."

Jay O'Hanegan and Brian Rodney exchanged glances.

"Well, that don't stop 'um from listenin' to that rock music," Brian said in his Southern drawl. "That classic rock mess? That Devil music? They were blarin' it in the Arby's parking lot. A one-way ticket to the lake of fire, if you ask me."

Jennifer raised an eyebrow. "Brian, didn't you go to an Aerosmith concert like three months ago?"

"Uh…" Brian's round face flushed a deep shade of pink. "…Yeah."

"You did?" Jay's shock was clear in his voice.

"I went with my cousin," Brian explained with a shrug. "B.J. had an extra ticket, and he didn't wanna go by hisself."

Jay looked sincerely disappointed in his short and stocky friend.

Dean let out a chuckle. "Well, how about that? A wolf in sheep's clothing."

Jay glared at him so severely Dean halfway expected to burst into flames.

"So, uh, Jennifer," Sam spoke up. "How do you know Jay and Brian?"

"We go to church together," she replied.

"Yup. We've known each other for a long, long time," Brian said. "All three of us has been goin' to New Hope since we was kids."

Dean looked at Jennifer. "And you actually continue to go there?"

"Yes," Jay said sharply. "She does." He folded his thick arms across his brawny chest and rather pointlessly offered another heated comment. "Actually, we used to date."

Dean's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Seriously?" He turned to Jennifer. She avoided eye contact as she shifted her weight from one leg to the other. "You and this guy?"

"_Used to_," she repeated.

"I would have thought you could have done a lot better than _him_," Dean said.

"Listen, man, you don't have a clue what you're talking about. We went out for two years," Jay boasted.

"It was closer to three," Jennifer corrected him. Her tone was a bit frosty. "And it was a long time ago. We were still in high school."

Jay shook his head. "No, we were in college."

"No, _you _were in college." Jennifer's iciness now bordered hostility. "I was a senior in high school, and _you _were a freshman in college." She raised her voice. "_You _went away to school, _you _wanted to try a long-distance relationship, and during Christmas break, _you _brought home a cheerleader."

Everyone was stunned into silence by her outburst.

No one spoke for several seconds.

"Okay, awkward," Dean finally ended the quiet.

"I'm sorry." Jennifer blushed with embarrassment and stared at the ground. "I shouldn't have-"

"No," Jay interrupted. He looked about as humiliated as she did. "It's, uh, it's okay."

More silence.

Dean cleared his throat.

Sam scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably.

"So," Jennifer sighed. "What are you doing out here, anyway?"

Happy about the topic change, Brian Rodney was fast to answer. "We was just on our way to pay our respects to Brother Frank's wife."

"We just came from there," Sam said.

"Oh?" Jay queried. "How's Mrs. Linton holding up?"

"Pretty well," Jennifer replied.

Jay nodded once more. "That's good."

Even more awkward silence.

Finally, the gas pump clicked off.

"Thank God," Dean mumbled to himself. He removed the nozzle and replaced the fuel tank cap.

"Well, I guess I'll see you later," Jennifer said to Brian and Jay as she opened the door to the backseat of the Impala.

"Guess so," Jay told her.

Jennifer waved goodbye.

"Oh, uh, y'all?" Brian spoke up. Jennifer and the Winchesters turned to face him. "I'm real sorry about all that homosexual confusion." He twiddled his thumbs as he continued. "And that stuff about the rock music, too." His face reddened again. "I gotta say, I did kinda like that 'Walk This Way'."

Jay heaved a sigh. "Really, Brian?"

"I know, I know. I looked up the lyrics and I felt real bad for likin' it, but it's just a catchy song!" Brian forced a smile. "Anyway, my point is, I guess we was purty quick to judge."

"No kidding," Dean scoffed.

"I see that we was wrong to act that way," Brian said. "Besides, if you're hangin' out with Jennifer, y'all cain't be too bad." He grinned wider. "I hope y'all will forgive us."

Sam tried his best to return the smile. "Of course we will."

"Good." Brian shoved his hands into the pockets of his navy cargo pants. "I'm glad."

"Yeah." Jay agreed. "Well, bye."

"See ya," Dean said, climbing into the Impala. He slammed the door behind him. Cranked up the vehicle and thrust it into drive. "Man. I just can't believe you used to date Jay." He gassed it out of the parking lot. "He's a total douchebag."

"Yeah," Jennifer sighed. "I know."

"I don't mean to be rude," Sam chimed in, looking at her over his shoulder, "but why _did _you date him?"

She sighed again. "He used to be different. He was funny. Friendly. Thoughtful." She paused. "But college changed him."

"Why? Did he major in douchebaggery?" Dean snarked.

Jennifer paid no attention to the comment. "Jay went to this expensive Christian school in Florida, where he got involved in all these high and mighty campus groups. A bunch of radical fundamentalists. Four years of that turned him into an annoying, self-righteous know-it-all."

"Yep." With a knowing nod, Dean glanced at Sam. "College will do that."

Sam frowned at him.

Dean grinned innocently.


	10. 1x2, V: Ramble On

_Apartment D-6,_

_Cedar Trace Apartments,_

_Antioch, Alabama._

_One Day Later._

Jennifer tossed a honeybun in each of the two brown paper lunch bags on the kitchen counter in front of her. "I've got some Swiss Rolls, too. Do you want a couple of those?"

Sam, who was standing to her left, quickly objected. "Oh, no, we couldn't-"

"It's a long drive to Indiana," Jennifer interrupted, throwing more than a couple of Swiss Rolls into the bags. "You'll thank me later."

"I'm thanking you now," Dean told her. "Seriously. You don't have to go through all this trouble."

"Does it look like a lot of trouble?" Jennifer asked. "I'm throwing junk food into bags." She smiled at him. "It's the least I can do."

Dean returned the smile. "Well, thank you."

She folded down the tops of the bags and handed one to each of them. "You're all set." She followed them into the living room, then into the foyer, then out the door. The three of them came to a stop on the sidewalk and admired the pleasant afternoon. The heavy rains that had recently become so characteristic of Antioch were gone. Bright, golden sunlight had replaced it. "Looks like nice weather for driving."

"Yep. No more omens. Hopefully that means all the demons got the heck outta Dodge," Dean said.

"But just in case it doesn't," Sam spoke up. "You've got our numbers."

"Yes. I sure do."

Silence.

Dean turned to her and stared into her eyes, watching her steely blue irises sparkle in the light. "Are you sure you're gonna be okay?" he questioned her. "Your friend was killed by a demon, and your associate pastor sold his soul to the devil. That's a lot."

"Yeah." She smiled. "But I'll be fine. I'm more worried about you two. You're the ones about to face off a bunch of vampires."

Dean shrugged. "Duty calls."

"Well, be careful," she said.

"We will," Sam assured her.

More silence.

"Uh, well, Jennifer," Sam stammered. "It was nice to meet you."

She gave him a hug. "You too, Sam."

Dean nodded and pulled her into a friendly embrace. "Yeah, it was a pleasure. Thanks, again."

"No problem. Drive safe."

"'Kay. See ya round," Dean said, leading the way toward the Impala.

Jennifer suddenly stepped forward and called after them. "You know," she started. "I just realized that throughout this whole experience, I never even got your real names."

Sam pivoted to face her. "Really?"

"Well," Jennifer grinned. "I sincerely doubt you're Ulrich and Hetfield."

Dean chuckled. "It's Winchester. Dean and Sam Winchester."

"Oh." She smiled. "Like the rifle?"

"Like the rifle," Dean repeated. The two of them shared a meaningful smile. He broke the glance. "Sammy, you coming or what?"

Jennifer watched as the Winchester brothers and their shiny classic automobile disappeared.

* * *

Dean put Antioch, Alabama, in the rear-view mirror, as the sounds of AC/DC pounded from the speakers.

The Winchesters had gone about half a mile when Sam reached over and turned down the radio. "So, what was that back there?" Sam asked mischievously, displaying a dumb grin.

"What was _what_?"

Sam grinned wider. "That extended gaze, the meaningful smile…"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Oh, please."

"I don't know, man. Seemed kinda like there was something there."

"I already told you, Sammy. I'm not into prude chicks."

"I know. And I also know that if Jennifer wasn't a Christian, you would have gone for it."

"Probably."

Sam hesitated before quietly saying, "Which…if you ask me…says a lot about you."

Dean shot him a look. "Yeah, it _does_ say a lot about me. It says that I respect her."

"Oh, really? So, all those comments you made about God and faith and prayer? That was respecting her?"

"Give me a break. I didn't say anything that wasn't true."

"Maybe not, but you were pretty rude."

Dean said nothing and kept his eyes on the road.

"I just think you could have said things a bit more…tactfully."

"Well, Sam, we probably won't ever see her again. She'll forget about us, and we'll forget about her. What I said doesn't really matter."

Sam heaved a sigh. "I guess not."

"And hey, at least I was straight up the whole time," Dean commented. "One minute you were accusing her of killing Trevor Bradley and Frank Linton, the next you're nominating her for sainthood."

Sam had to laugh. "Sainthood?"

"You get the picture."

"A really distorted picture," Sam scoffed. "Yeah, at first I thought she might have been a killer, and I had good reasons for thinking that. But after we took a look around her place and found absolutely nothing, and after talking with Martha Linton, I realized that you were right about her."

"Well, of course I was right." Dean grinned at him. "I don't even know why you try anymore. I'm always right."

Sam laughed. "Yeah. Just like you were right about the lady that answered the door being Martha Linton."

"That was a simple mistake."

"Sure."

"Seriously? That's all you got on me?" Dean shook his head, smiling. "That's sad, Sammy." He turned up the radio. "Really sad."


	11. 1x3, I: Trouble on the Way

A/N: I'd just like to thank you all for the reviews. Please keep them coming! I love to know what kind of things you guys like/dislike/love/loathe. It helps me improve as a writer, and I can definitely use all the help I can get! Again, thanks for reading!

* * *

**"Bad Moon Rising"**

* * *

_One Month Later._

_Dean Winchester opened his eyes as he slowly returned to consciousness._

_The room was dark and hot. Sweat mingled with the dried blood on his chest and back. His whole body ached from hours of sitting awkwardly with his arms behind him, tied around a pole. _

_His vision partially cleared, and he could make out his captor standing over him, his face in shadow._

_The man held a small dagger in his hand. He took a step closer. _

_Without warning, he knelt and stabbed Dean's left arm._

_Dean screamed as he left the knife in place momentarily, then jerked it free. Blood poured from the gaping wound. Pain ripped through his arm, down to the tips of his fingers. _

_Another quick movement, and the knife pierced Dean's side. _

_His body jerked spasmodically as his screams echoed throughout the place. _

_Then he took the knife and pressed it slowly into his shoulder. He dragged the point across Dean's chest, leaving a trail of blood and broken skin, until it rested over his heart. _

_Dean was about to die, and he was afraid. _

Jennifer Bane jolted awake from her nightmare, gasping for air.

Her bedsheets, hot and damp with sweat, were twisted around her legs. The image from her nightmare was fresh in her mind, impossibly vivid, and unwilling to disappear.

The torture that she'd witnessed had felt like her own.

She'd felt the humidity of Dean's prison. She'd felt the blade pierce his skin. And now, even as she repeatedly reminded herself that it had only been a dream, she was so disturbed that she broke into a sob. She rolled onto her belly and cried into her pillow, choking on her own tears.

Then Jennifer realized something.

It had been a nightmare. One of _those _nightmares.

And that meant that somewhere, at some time, Dean Winchester would be in serious trouble.

* * *

Jennifer thumbed through her list of contacts until she came to _Dean Winchester_. She selected it, pushed the button with the little green phone on it, and pressed her silver Motorola RAZR to her ear.

_Ring._

Her heart raced.

_Ring._

Her heart rate doubled.

_Ring._

She gulped, fearing the worst.

_"Hey, this is Dean Winchester. Leave me a message." _

She cleared her throat and waited for the beep. "Dean, hey. This is Jennifer Bane. From Alabama. I, uh, I'm worried about you. Really worried. So, please, please, call me back as soon as you get this. I just wanna make sure you're okay."

She hung up and tried Sam's number. Got his voicemail. She left an urgent message for him as well.

Jennifer sat at the foot of her bed, nervously gnawing on her fingertips.

The Winchesters were in trouble. She knew it. And she couldn't just sit there and do nothing. She'd done nothing after dreaming about Trevor Bradley. He was dead now, and she might have been able to stop it.

Intuition overpowered her.

She had to move. She had to do something.

Now.

Even if it was almost three in the morning.

Jennifer felt the adrenaline pumping through her veins.

She sprinted to the closet, grabbed up her suitcase, and began to pack.

She had to find Dean.


	12. 1x3, II: Earthquakes and Lightning

_Interstate 35,_

_About 300 miles from Des Moines, Iowa._

"Frickin' AT&T." Dean Winchester tossed his cell phone into the glove compartment and slammed it shut. "Dropped my damn call, and now we've got no service."

"No service again?" Sam inquired, glancing away from the road for just a second.

"I know. We shoulda gone with Verizon."

Sam nodded. "So what did Ash say? Before it cut out?"

"He was telling me about a preacher who opened fire in a convenience store in Upper Des Moines."

Sam groaned. "Not another rogue preacher."

"Just wait. It gets better," Dean said. "See, the thing is, the good reverend was leading a Bible study at the exact time of the massacre. Dumbass cops didn't care about that too much, though, so the preacher is in jail right now."

"Sounds like another shapeshifter."

"My thoughts exactly," Dean agreed. "Ash hasn't heard anything about the convenience store security footage yet, so that seems like a good place to start."

"Sounds like a plan."

"How far are we from Des Moines?"

Sam sighed. "You're the one with the map."

"Right." Dean reached for the road atlas. "I get confused when you drive." He opened the glove compartment, removed his flip phone, flipped it open, and used the blue glow of its screen to illuminate the map. "At least the piece of crap's good for something." He leaned into the map for a closer look. "Okay, looks like we're about three hundred miles or so outside of Des Moines. I could probably get us there by sunrise, but…with you behind the wheel…we might make it there a week from Tuesday."

"Hilarious."

Dean put away the atlas and stared at the phone. Still no service. He snapped it shut and placed it in the glove compartment once more. "Seriously, dude. Speed up. I gotta take a leak."

"Dean, there hasn't been anywhere to stop for the past forty-five minutes. And I'm going as fast I can."

"Is the pedal touching the floor?"

Sam glared at him.

Dean rolled his eyes with a huff. "Man, pull over."

* * *

With no idea where the Winchesters were, Jennifer hit the nearest interstate and started driving, hoping an image of their present location would pop into her mind.

It was crazy, and she knew it.

But in her defense, the technique had worked for her in the past. She had noticed over the years that if she concentrated on a mental image of a particular object gone missing, a picture of the missing object in its current location would often enter her mind.

For example, just last week she had misplaced her car keys. Instead of wasting time searching the apartment for them, she stopped and focused her mind on the missing set. A second later, an image of the bathroom sink bombarded her thoughts.

Sure enough, she'd left the keys there.

Jennifer had retrieved dozens of items using the same technique. And the things didn't always belong to her. She'd helped Jay O'Hanegan, her big-nosed ex-boyfriend, find his Celtic Thunder album. She had helped her best friend, Alanna Parkhurst, locate her missing debit card. And once, she had even used her odd ability to help a complete stranger recover her lost engagement ring.

It _almost_ always worked on objects. But she had never tried it on living, breathing, M.I.A. humans.

Like Dean.

But what other choice did she have? She had to at least try. _She had to._

And at four o'clock that morning, as she drove along Interstate 20, she randomly thought of Des Moines, Iowa.

"Des Moines," Jennifer said the name of the city aloud. She shivered a little. It sounded right. "Des Moines."

Never in her life had she been anywhere close to Des Moines. She didn't know anyone from there. It hadn't recently made the news; at least, none that she had heard. There was absolutely no reason for her to think about Des Moines, Iowa. In fact, the randomness of the thought startled her.

She had no idea why, but Des Moines was right. She just knew it.

So, she headed north.

* * *

Several hours later, Dean and Sam checked into a room at the Sunrise Inn, a grimy place with solar-themed rooms located in Upper Des Moines. They took a moment to unpack their belongings and get changed into professional attire before visiting the 7-Eleven where the gun-toting preacher had wreaked havoc.

Presently, the Impala jerked to a stop in the convenience store parking lot.

"This is the place," Dean said, shifting into park. He cut off the engine. "ID, please."

Sam fished around in their box of fake badges and identification cards. Homeland Security. FBI. Bikini Inspectors. Sam carefully selected two IDs and handed one of them to his brother. "There you go, Detective Walsh."

Dean tucked it inside a pocket of his navy suit jacket and glanced at Sam. "Let's take a look at that security tape."

They exited the vehicle and slammed their doors simultaneously.

"Wonder if they have nachos," Dean thought aloud. "You know, the do-it-yourself ones with the cheese dispenser? And maybe some jalapeños."

Sam cringed, unable to overlook the dirt and mold and mildew that covered just about every inch of the building's crumbling exterior. "I don't think I'd eat their food, Dean."

Dean shrugged and pulled open the front door. A small silver bell hanging from the handle jingled as he did so.

Sam grimaced. The inside of the place wasn't much better than the outside, and the overpowering musty odor sure didn't help.

"Agreed," Dean mumbled to his brother, after spotting a cockroach near the soda fountain.

A blonde-haired teenage girl seated behind the counter barely greeted them. "Yeah?"

"Hello." Sam smiled politely. He held up his ID for her to see. "I'm Detective Henley, and this is Detective Walsh. We're with the local police department, and-"

_SNAP! _The girl popped her wad of chewing gum so loudly it startled both of the men.

"Uh..." Sam quickly regained his composure. "We were just-"

"Let me guess." She interrupted rudely, giving them each judgmental once-overs. "You wanna see the video from the shooting again?"

"Yeah." Dean forced a smile. "We sure do."

She rolled her green eyes and turned her back to them. "Daddy!" she hollered through a doorway behind the counter. "The cops are back, and they need to see the freakin' tape again."

Sam and Dean blankly stared at one another.

A moment later, a short bald man with a spray-bottle tan appeared in the doorway. "Drop the attitude, Melissa," he chided the girl. "And get off your hiney. There's stock that needs to be put up."

Melissa rolled her eyes again as she rose from her seat and walked around the counter. She went to a large cardboard box marked _Frito-Lay _and ripped it open.

The man who was evidently her father faced the Winchesters. "Sorry, guys. Right this way." He led them behind the front counter.

"Sweet kid," Dean said sarcastically.

The man sighed. "That attitude of hers…oh, geez. It's killing me. You know how they are at that age. They think they know everything."

Sam gave him a courteous nod.

"So. You boys are real thorough," the man said. He stopped in front of a small, black and white television screen. "Third time this week you've been by."

"Just doing our job." Dean smiled.

The man pressed a couple of buttons and got the footage rolling. "Here you go. Thursday night."

The grayscale image onscreen showed a middle-aged guy with a dark beard enter the store.

"There he is," Melissa's father said, pointing him out.

The three watched as the reverend walked up to the counter. He said something to the off-screen cashier, reached into his jacket, and pulled out a handgun. Without warning, he began firing.

"Were you here when it happened?" Sam asked the man.

"No. I left my assistant manager, Billy, in charge that night," he replied. He shook his head. "Lucky for Billy, the reverend was a terrible shot. Bullet barely grazed his arm. I think he must-"

"Whoa, whoa, can you replay that?" Dean suddenly cut in.

"Oh, uh, sure." The man fumbled around with a remote. "How far back you want me to go?"

Dean watched the screen closely. "…There! Right there."

In between gunshots, the reverend looked into the camera lens, and his eyes flashed disturbingly white.

Sam and Dean exchanged glances.

"Oh, that's just a camera flare," the man explained. His orange face turned a bit red. "We don't exactly got the best cameras made, you know."

"They'll do, though," Sam assured him. "Tell us, did you ever notice him acting strange before he pulled this stunt?"

"No. Pastor James was always the same. Just a good-hearted, good-natured man of God. The kinda guy who'd give you the shirt off his back _and _buy you a new one," the man told them. "Billy said that when he came in Thursday…Pastor James was a completely different person. He asked for some kinda candy, we didn't have it, and so he started shooting." The man sighed. "I've already told you people all this three times."

"I know, and we're sorry to bother you again, sir," Dean apologized. "We just had to make a routine follow-up."

Sam nodded. "We'd like to get one last look around the place, then we'll leave you alone." He smiled as they let themselves out. "Thanks again for your cooperation."

Dean heaved a sigh as they stepped into the parking lot. "That nasty thing had to have changed into somebody else before it took off." He carefully studied the cement. "We need to find where it molted."

"Always easier said than done," Sam commented, lifting up the lid of a trash can.

"Yep." Dean glanced behind the outdoor ice bin. "I hate shapeshifters. I really do."

They headed around the back of the store. There was a short alley that dead-ended into a high concrete wall.

"He probably went that way," Sam deduced.

"Probably." Dean peeked inside the dumpsters anyway. He found only trash. "He had to. There's nowhere to go underground. No sewer hole or anything."

"Wherever he went," Sam sighed. "He's long gone now."

* * *

It was nearly six-thirty in the evening when the Des Moines skyline came into view.

Jennifer Bane's stomach flopped as she drove toward the high rises. Des Moines was a bigger place than she had imagined. How in the world she expected to find Sam and Dean in a city this size, she hadn't a clue.

The taller the skyscrapers grew, the dumber she felt.

What had she been thinking? She'd run off in the middle of the night and traveled halfway across the country without telling anyone. All because of some nightmare she had about a guy she barely knew.

_And_ because she knew she wouldn't be able to live with herself if news of Dean Winchester's death got around to her.

She didn't know exactly how she was going to keep her premonitory dream from coming true, but she had to think of something. Fast. For all she knew, Dean could be tied to that post right now, crying out in agony as his captor stabbed him.

Jennifer drove farther into the city until she found a decent Holiday Inn. She decided to get a room and set up headquarters there while she developed her plan.

After receiving her room key, she strolled across the motel lobby toward the exit. Having just graduated from Hamilton State University with a degree in journalism, she naturally glanced over the headlines as she passed by the newspaper vending machines. The headline on the front of an Upper Des Moines paper caught her eye: _"Local Pastor Taken Into Police Custody After Opening Fire In Gas Station_._"_

She was drawn to it. She stopped, dug a couple of quarters out of her purse, and purchased a copy of the issue.

Jennifer quickly read over the article. It was a shocking story, to say the least. But she soon realized why she'd been attracted to the paper. One line in particular proved that to her:

_"Despite the cashier's testimony and raw videos of security camera footage, Pastor Robert James claims he was leading a Bible study at the time of the shooting. James' statement has been validated by multiple eye-witness accounts." _

She gulped and read on.

Another quote stood out to her, a quote by the owner of the convenience store where the shooting had taken place:

_"Pastor James was always the same. He was just a good-hearted guy. But he came in Thursday night a totally different person. He was angry that we didn't have the kind of candy he wanted, and so he yanked out a gun and started shooting." _

She folded up the newspaper and stuffed it inside her purse. "Excuse me!" Jennifer waved to catch the desk clerk's attention. "Do you have a map of Upper Des Moines?"


	13. 1X3, III: Bad Times Today

_7-Eleven,_

_Upper Des Moines, Iowa_

For whatever inexplicable reason, Jennifer knew she had come to the right place when she stepped inside the dingy 7-Eleven store. She strongly sensed that the Winchester brothers had come this way recently. To hopefully prove it, she decided to speak with the cashier- a skinny, blonde teenager who was giving her the evil eye.

Jennifer drew in a deep breath and approached her. "Hey. I'm looking for some friends of mine, and I was wondering if they'd stopped in lately. They're, uh, two guys, mid to late twenties. Both are tall. One's really tall."

The girl kept staring at her.

Jennifer cleared her throat and smiled. "They're both really cute."

"Uh-huh," the girl said. "They're detectives, right?" She blew an impressively large bubble with her chewing gum. She popped it with her index finger. "Walsh and Henley. Like The Eagles."

Jennifer's smile widened. "That's definitely them." She tried to hide how thrilled she was over the news. "You're a fan of The Eagles, huh?"

The girl shrugged. "All my dad ever listens to."

"My dad too," Jennifer told her. "So, Detective Walsh and Detective Henley. When did they come in?"

"This morning. They wanted to look at some security footage or something."

"Oh, yes. From the shooting." Jennifer thought for a second. "Hey, uh…" She trailed off, glancing at the girl's name tag. "Melissa? Do you think I could see the footage they looked at?"

Melissa looked at her distrustfully. "Why would I let you do that?"

"Well, uh…" Jennifer had to think fast. She reached into her purse and retrieved her wallet. "I'm requiring you to." She pulled her student ID from her wallet and, covering up the Hamilton State University logo, held it up for the girl to see. "Special Agent Jennifer…Stetson." She quickly tucked the ID card away. "Those two guys I asked about?" She lowered her voice for effect. "They're not really detectives."

The girl's green eyes widened in surprise.

"And I have reason to believe that they may have been connected to the shooting."

Melissa frowned. "How?"

"…I'm not at liberty to say," Jennifer answered. "Now. Could you show me the security footage, please?"

More than an hour after viewing the security video, Jennifer was back inside her motel room, thankful that she had brought her laptop.

She needed Google.

Sprawled out on the queen size bed, reading one Wikipedia article after another, and surrounded by newspaper clippings and personal notes of her own, Jennifer felt like a professional journalist.

This search for truth excited her. Reviewing her data and entering it into an online search engine gave her a powerful rush that she'd never experienced, because this time, it wasn't for some stupid research paper or class project. The research she was doing now _mattered_. It was important.

It could help her save Dean's life.

She glanced over her notes one more time. Silvery-white eyes. Uncharacteristic behavior. Two places at once.

She was so close to the truth. She had to be.

Then came the information she was seeking.

With a couple more mouse clicks, she discovered what had brought Dean and Sam to Des Moines- a shapeshifter.

She learned all about the creatures. Their history. Their habitat of choice. And most importantly, how to kill one.

With silver. Especially a silver bullet to the heart.

* * *

Sam and Dean were seated in the Blue Bird Café, a small restaurant across the street from their motel, waiting for their order to be delivered.

Dean pulled out his phone and opened it. _No service_. "Oh, come on!" He slapped the phone shut. "We're in a big city. How are we not getting reception?"

Sam silently sipped his glass of ice water.

"Is your phone picking up anything?" Dean asked.

Sam dug it out of his pocket and checked. "Nope."

"Man."

"Sure, it sucks, but why are you getting so worked up over it?"

Dean slid his phone into his jacket pocket. He hadn't really thought about it. But he was kind of making a big deal out of it. "I don't know," he said honestly. "Maybe-"

He didn't have a chance to finish.

A thin young woman burst through the door of the restaurant, screaming frantically. "Help me!" she cried. Blood stains covered her once-white blouse and pink satin skirt. Her shoulder-length blonde hair was disheveled, her pretty face scratched, bruised, and streaked with mascara. "He's after me!"

Without hesitation, Dean and Sam jumped up from their table and ran to where she was.

"Ma'am, what's wrong?" Sam asked her immediately.

"My-my husband!" She stuttered between gasps for air. "He's-he's trying to k-kill me!"

Dean gently placed a hand on her shoulder and ushered her away from the door. "This woman needs help," Dean told the restaurant manager, who had rushed out to the commotion.

The manager took the woman into the back of the store quickly. "Come on, Lizzie."

Sam suddenly elbowed Dean. "Dean, look."

"What?"

Dean followed his brother's eyes. Approaching the door was a well-built young man who at any other time would have been considered attractive. But now, his handsome features were twisted with rage. His face was flushed, his nostrils were flared, and his eyes were wild with anger.

His eyes.

As he entered the café, the florescent lights reflected in his eyes.

They flashed white.

"Did you see that?" Sam quietly asked his brother.

"Yeah."

One of the restaurant's employees escorted the white-eyed man outside, where a large group of people, including a few policemen, had gathered around to gawk at the disturbance.

The Winchester brothers tried to keep a low profile as they followed the worker and the shapeshifter out the door. However, once they reached the parking lot, unseen by cops, the shapeshifter seemed to have disappeared into the crowd.

"Dammit," Dean muttered.

Sam sighed. "He could be anybody by now."

Dean spotted the restaurant employee who had led the man outside. "Hey! Where'd he go?"

"I don't know. He just…vanished," the guy said, somewhat out of breath. "I don't know what's gotten into him, either. He was out of town this week, on business, and it looks like he came back early and went postal." He stopped to breathe. "He and his wife are regulars. Mr. and Mrs. Lucie. They're usually just the nicest people, so friendly all the time." He sighed. "What's this world coming to?" He shook his head and walked away.

"Okay, just look at everybody," Sam whispered to Dean. "Look for the eyes."

"He's probably taken off by now, Sammy," Dean said, glancing around.

Sam walked several feet a way from the crowd and knelt down beside a sewer manhole. "Dean," he called him over. "Look at this."

Dean came to his side and stared down at the manhole. "You think he really moved that fast?"

"He's not human," Sam reminded him. He slid the heavy ring away from the opening, releasing an unpleasant, stale odor. He looked up at Dean and grinned. "Ladies first."

"Damn straight. I'm right behind you."

Sam rolled his eyes and carefully began his descent.

Dean extracted a small flashlight from his jacket and clicked it on, holding it above Sam's head to light the way for him. Once he was in, it was Dean's turn to climb down. He managed to close up the entrance behind himself.

"Ugh," Dean grunted when his feet collided with the ground. The place was steamy and unimaginably dark. Their flashlights barely helped to illuminate the place, although they did shine a spotlight on a couple of rats as they squeaked around their feet. "Why can't shapeshifters set up shop in tiki huts on nice, sandy beaches with hot babes in bikinis?" Dean wrinkled his nose as he watched the hideous rodents scurry about. "God, I hate rats."

"Look, let's split up," Sam told him, pulling off his outermost layer of shirts to keep from suffocating in the heat. "We'll meet back here in ten minutes if we don't find anything."

Dean shrugged. "Okay."

And they went their separate ways.

Dean hadn't wandered off very far when he stepped in something squishy.

He closed his eyes and slowly lowered his flashlight. He forced his eyes open and discovered a revolting pile of skin, hair, teeth beneath his boot.

"Disgusting," he muttered to himself.

He stepped away from the shapeshifter's skin and continued into the tomblike darkness.

Just then, Dean heard an unintelligible noise behind him. "Sammy?" He turned on his heel.

There was a loud clunk before everything went black.


	14. 1x3, IV: Voice of Rage and Ruin

_Blue Bird Café,_

_Upper Des Moines, Iowa_

Jennifer had completed her research and called Dean again. When she received no answer, she called Sam. When he didn't answer, she found a Wal-Mart, bought a silver knife, hopped in her Honda, and went for a drive.

This time, she relied more on deductive reasoning than her strange psychic intuition.

Dean and Sam had probably come to Des Moines to investigate the 7-Eleven shooting. That meant they were probably staying in a motel near the 7-Eleven. That might mean they were currently in that general vicinity.

Following that train of thought, she had headed to Upper Des Moines, where the dilapidated 7-Eleven was located.

Apparently, she was right again.

The flashing emergency lights outside the Blue Bird Café got her attention first. Then she noticed the black 1967 Chevrolet Impala.

Her heart fluttered.

She whipped the Honda into the restaurant parking lot.

* * *

Dean opened his eyes, slowly returning to consciousness.

A dank smell filled his senses. He couldn't see much; his vision was blurred and the place was dark. The room was hot, and sweat mingled with the dried blood on his chest and back. His whole body ached from sitting awkwardly with his arms tied up behind him.

Then he remembered where he was and what he had been doing there.

Sam! Where was he?

He remembered they had split up moments before he had been knocked out. He tried to look around the room but he saw no one.

Dean moved slowly and cautiously, trying to reach his dagger making a lot of noise.

Then he realized the dagger was not in its usual place.

* * *

Jennifer was disappointed to find that the brothers were neither outside nor inside the restaurant.

There was, however, a large group of people gathered in the parking lot, so she decided to join them.

"Excuse me, what's going on?" she asked a woman at the edge of the crowd.

"This man just tried to kill his wife," the lady told her. She shook her head sadly. "I know him. He's always seemed like such a nice guy."

Jennifer raised a brow. "Really?"

"I heard someone say that he was on a business trip, and he had just called his wife a couple of hours ago to tell her he was staying an extra day," she continued. "Then he showed up and did all these horrible, insane things to her. It's just terrible."

Jennifer nodded and slowly distanced herself from the group.

This man sounded suspiciously like the preacher. She knew Sam and Dean had gone after him. And according to her research, if this man was the shapeshifter, he would have gone somewhere dark and wet. Somewhere like the setting in her nightmare about Dean's death.

Her eyes scanned the parking lot. Dark and wet. She concentrated on the image from her dream.

Then she spotted a manhole a few feet away.

The sewer.

She swallowed hard. The thought of climbing into a dark sewer…

Dean. He was more than likely being tortured while she stared at the ground.

Jennifer took a deep breath. She walked over to the manhole and lifted up the cover.

* * *

Dean's thoughts were racing as he tried to figure out a way to escape. His head was pounding from the blow. He could barely think.

He had to get up and find his brother.

Then he heard footsteps.

He could scarcely make out a tall, black figure approaching him from the darkness. But as the figure got closer, he could see what it was. Furthermore, _who_ it was.

It was Sam.

* * *

Jennifer managed to safely lower herself into the sewer, using the glow of her cell phone screen as a flashlight.

The place was repulsive in so many ways. The odor. The humidity. The rats crawling around her feet.

She was thankful she'd worn closed-toe shoes. She shuddered at the thought of wearing flip-flops right now.

Bravely, she continued on, hoping and praying that Dean and Sam were nearby.

And alive.

Something squashed beneath her feet. Horrified by the sound and feel of the incident, she slowly backed up and lit up the area with her cell phone.

Jennifer gasped. It was a pile of skin. She forced herself to look away.

That's when she saw something up ahead.

* * *

Dean saw the gleam of his missing dagger in Sam's hand. The younger Winchester took a step toward him.

"Look who finally woke up," Sam said, grinning. "I was starting to think you were so pathetic I'd killed you with one blow."

Dean clenched his jaw. "Where's Sam?"

"What? You're kidding, right?" Sam held his hands out beside him. "I _am _Sam. Sam I am."

"No, you're not. You're a monster."

Sam grinned again. "Interesting choice of words there, Dean." He moved closer to him. "Since we both know they're interchangeable."

"Where is he?"

"I told you. I'm him."

"Leave me alone, you filthy-"

"Oh, come on now, Dean. You need to face the facts." Sam squatted in front of Dean, placing their faces inches away. "Why can't you just accept that I'm your brother?" He held up the dagger and twirled it around. "Why can't you just accept the fact that dear old Dad was right about me? That I've finally become that monster he so carelessly told you I'd become?"

* * *

Jennifer raced toward the figure up ahead. She recognized the slumped head and shoulders of a man, and as she got closer, she realized the man was Sam.

"Sam!" she exclaimed softly. She rushed to him and knelt down beside him.

He was shirtless. Tied up to a pole, just like the one Dean was bound to in her nightmare. His eyes were closed.

Reluctantly, she shook him, trying not to stare at his perfectly toned muscles. "Sam," she said. "Sam, wake up."

He was apparently unconscious.

Unsure of what else to do, she continued to shake him. "Sam."

Then she remembered her knife. She took it out of her back pocket and very carefully sliced through the rope that held him captive.

After a while, his eyes fluttered open. He squinted at her, confused.

"Are you okay?" she asked him gently.

He blinked in disbelief. "_Jennifer?_"

"I know. I can't really believe it either," she confessed. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. But I think Dean's in trouble."

Jennifer helped him to his feet. "Do you know where he is? Or where the shapeshifter is?"

"No." Sam didn't bother to ask her how she knew about the shapeshifter. "I saw it, the shapeshifter, turn into me. He took my shirt and changed into me."

She grimaced. "That must have been disturbing. Can you walk?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." They started down the passageway. "Let's find Dean."

* * *

"The more I think about all that, the sadder it gets," 'Sam' told Dean. "What kinda father would tell that to his own son? I mean, come on. He had to have known what a burden it would be for you. What a burden it _is_. Knowing that you're gonna have to waste me one day."

"Shut up."

"No, no. Listen to me, Dean. It's true. He obviously didn't care about you." 'Sam' laughed. "It's a shame too, isn't it? Because all your life, all you ever did was suck up to the man, following his every order-"

"I said shut up!"

"You know," 'Sam' smirked. "It's funny to me. Well, not _funny_, I guess. But still. After all that about you killing me, here we are. And I'm the one holding the knife."

_Bang! Bang!_

Two shots were fired from the darkness, striking 'Sam' directly in the heart.

The real Sam came forward from the black abyss, holding the gun in his hand. Jennifer emerged from behind him and ran to Dean as the shapeshifter fell to the ground.

"Are you okay?" Jennifer asked him breathlessly, sliding to the floor beside him. Using her handy new knife, she began to cut the ropes that bound him.

"Jennifer?" Dean gave her a bewildered look that closely mirrored the one Sam had first given her. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Saving your tail."

Dean was much more than shocked as he watched her. "Seriously. What are you doing here?"

She stopped slicing and looked at him. "I had a nightmare about you. I saw you die."

Dean gulped. "What?"

"I called you like a million times, you and Sam both, but neither of you answered. So, I got in my car early this morning and-"

"Hold on a second," Dean interrupted. He swallowed hard, mesmerized by her. By her words. By her frazzled brown waves and her dirt-smudged clothing. He stared into her blue eyes. "You came all this way by yourself just to save me?"

She nodded.

Dean watched as she intently returned to her rope-slicing. He didn't blink. "That's kinda hot."

Startled by the comment, Jennifer cut all the way through the rope and nearly stabbed both of them. She felt her cheeks growing warm.

"Crazy," Dean remarked as she glanced up at him. "But hot."

Sam coughed loudly and killed the moment.

Dean broke their gaze. He struggled to push himself off the ground.

"Here, let me help you," she said, offering a hand to him.

He took it.

The two of them met Sam in the middle of the dark space. "Well, you're not exactly the person I wanna see right now," Dean told his brother. "I mean, I'm glad you're okay and everything, but I think you were about to kill me."

"That wasn't me, Dean," Sam tried to comfort him.

Dean smiled. "Very true." The three of them headed toward the exit. "You know, that thing was really stupid. Picking the ugly one like he did. Don't know why he'd choose _that _homely mug over my striking good looks."

Sam glared at him.

Jennifer laughed softly.


	15. 1x3, V: On The Rise

_Blue Bird Café,_

_Upper Des Moines, Iowa._

Safely out of the shapeshifter's lair, Dean, Sam, and Jennifer shared a vinyl booth inside the Blue Bird Café. She was busily answering their questions and filling them in on what had led her there.

"And she just let you see the security footage?" Sam wanted to know.

"Well, I, uh, I kind of said I was an agent," Jennifer said sheepishly. "I showed her my student ID really fast, and she believed me."

Dean had to laugh. "Man. You really are good at lying."

"I like to call it _acting_," she said.

"Call it whatever you like," Dean told her. "It's still lying."

She shrugged and took a swig of Dr. Pepper.

"I just can't believe how quickly you found us," Sam commented. "And the way you tracked the shifter? Pretty impressive. You'd make a hell of a hunter."

Jennifer perked up. "Really?"

"Sam, don't go putting ideas in her head," Dean chided his brother. He glanced at Jennifer. "You saw how close we cut it tonight. Hunting's a dangerous gig."

Sam nodded in agreement.

"But I will give you one thing," Dean went on, chewing a French fry. "If you hadn't shown up when you did, I'd have been toast." He turned to Sam. "Some back up you are."

"I was a little incapacitated myself, Dean," Sam reminded him.

"My point is," Dean said. "Sam's right. You did do a good job. Hell, you saved me from being filleted."

Jennifer blushed a little as she smiled. "I had to. I couldn't sit back and do nothing anymore." She sighed. "Not after what I let happen to Trevor."

Her statement earned her new respect from Sam. He fully understood her reasoning now, why she'd gone to such great lengths to find them. He'd felt that same guilt after Jessica's death, when he'd dreamed of her demise days before it had happened and had done nothing to prevent it. "Hey." Sam's voice was filled with compassion. "What happened to Trevor wasn't your fault. There was nothing you could have done."

Jennifer stared at the napkin holder in the center of the table. Although she would never be able to fully rid herself of guilt, Sam's words touched her. Comforted her.

"You did the right thing by coming here," Sam told her. "Sure, it was risky. And dangerous. But most people wouldn't have had the guts to do what you did." His features softened. "I know it doesn't bring Trevor back, but we made it out of there alive tonight because of you."

Her face twitched a little with emotion. "I, um…" She cleared her throat. "I've always wondered why I had these nightmares. These terrible nightmares about people dying that keep coming true."

Sam and Dean patiently waited for her to go on.

"And now I realize that I've been given a gift. A gift from God." She gulped. "For whatever reason, I've been chosen to help people. To save them."

"Do you really believe that?" Dean inquired.

Jennifer nodded. "Yes. I do."

* * *

Later that night, the Winchesters were back inside their motel room. Sam was lying on his bed, staring at the mildewed ceiling, lost in his thoughts, while Dean gathered various belongings scattered across the room.

Neither of them had said much of anything after escorting Jennifer to her room at the Holiday Inn.

Dean couldn't take the silence any longer. "I hope Jennifer makes it back to Alabama okay," he said, tossing a can of shaving cream into his canvas bag.

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "Me too."

The silence soon returned.

Dean studied Sam's meditative expression. "You sure are quiet tonight."

"Sorry." Sam sighed and sat up. He leaned against the headboard. "I've just been thinking about what she said."

"What? That crap about being chosen by God?"

Sam's eyes enlarged with surprise. "_Crap_?"

"Well, yeah. You don't really believe that." Dean paused. "Do you?"

"Honestly, Dean, I don't know what to believe anymore."

Dean said nothing as he folded a button-down shirt of his and placed it inside his bag.

"I've always thought of my nightmares and visions as a curse. As something evil, as some part of Yellow Eyes's plans for me," Sam said. "But what if I'm wrong? What if there _are _no demon plans for me? What if I've been chosen to do something else, by someone else?"

"Someone like _God_?"

"This whole time, I've been thinking that we met Jennifer for a reason. It felt like were led to Antioch, Alabama, to be a part of something," Sam told him. "Think about it Dean. What if this is all part of _God's_ plan for me?"

Dean frowned at him. "How many beers did you have?"

"I'm surprised at you, Dean. Throughout all of this, you've said over and over again that the demon doesn't have a destiny picked out for me. That I'm not supposed to be a monster."

"I didn't mean you were supposed to become a saint."

Sam leaned forward and scooted toward the edge of the bed. "I don't mean that either. I'm just saying…maybe Dad _was_ wrong. Maybe I was chosen to bring about good, like Jennifer said. Maybe I'm meant to save people."

Dean was quiet.

"That does kinda seem to be our destiny, Dean, don't you think? Saving people? It makes a lot more sense for me to be destined to rid the world of evil than to bring more into it. Don't you see that?"

"Yeah." Dean set his bag aside. "That part I get." He moved across the room toward Sam. "It's all this 'chosen by God' stuff I'm not gettin'." He sat down on the bed next to him. "Look, Sammy, I know this stuff is weighing down on you. You're desperate for answers." Dean looked into his brother's eyes. "But this? This ain't it."

Sam turned his eyes toward the carpet.

"I'm wanting answers too." Dean stopped, trying to choose his words carefully. "And whatever this is, wherever these psychic abilities of yours are coming from, we're gonna figure it out." Sam lifted his eyes to his brother's. "Together."


	16. 1x4, I: Knock, Knock

A/N: Thanks again for reviewing and adding this story to your favorites! I'm so glad to know you guys are still around. Please keep the reviews coming! Like I said before, I love to know what kind of things you guys like/dislike/love/loathe. Thanks for reading!

* * *

**"Wheel in the Sky"**

**

* * *

  
**

_Trenton, Colorado._

_Three and a half weeks later._

Twenty-three year old Grace Ingram sat in front of her television, taking in the latest episode of _Wheel of Fortune_. This wasoriginally due to boredom and lack of more interesting programming, but she was now surprisingly into the show. It was time for the bonus round. The category was 'Phrase.'

Her television screen blinked off for a second as a clap of thunder shook the foundations of her bungalow style home. Then the set clicked back on, revealing a close up image of Pat Sajak.

Grace took a sip of the steaming hot tea she was holding and watched as the ditzy contestant chose three consonants and a vowel.

"'O'," she said to the screen. "Pick 'O'."

Of course, the woman onscreen could not hear her. She selected 'A', much to her dismay.

"There goes your money, dumbass." Grace shook her head and had some more tea.

A blue streak of lightning outside her window lit up the living room. Thunder rumbled overhead and beneath her feet. The television winked off again, and this time, it didn't come back on.

"Frick!" Grace huffed.

_Knock, knock!_

The rapping on the front door startled her. She had heard no car in the driveway. She'd seen no headlights.

Grace set her coffee mug on the end table and slid her bare feet into her favorite pair of house slippers. She rose from the sofa, headed into the foyer, and flipped on the porch light before opening the door.

She did not recognize the slim, blonde-haired man on her doorstep.

"Something wrong, sir?" Grace asked him warily.

The stranger's brown eyes suddenly flashed yellow.

She screamed. "You!"

Without warning, he thrust his arm in Grace's direction, telekinetically sending her flying into the wall behind her. She was pinned there, unable to move a muscle.

"No, little missy." Yellow Eyes grinned. "Nothing's wrong."

He stormed across the threshold, bursting into Grace's home. With a flick of his wrist, Grace Ingram lurched forward and dropped to the floor.

She was dead.


	17. 1x4, II: Down the Drain

_Antioch, Alabama._

Jennifer Bane sat in a luxurious leather armchair across from the desk of Clifton Bowers, the man responsible for hiring new writing staff at _The Antioch Beacon_. The _Beacon _was the only newspaper in Antioch and its surrounding areas, and if Jennifer wanted to continue living in her hometown, she had no other career options.

But honestly, she didn't want the job.

It was the excitement of investigation and weeding out truth that had lured Jennifer to journalism in the first place. But during her four years at Hamilton State University, she realized life as a reporter would not be as exciting as she had always hoped, especially not at a small town paper like _The Antioch Beacon_. She would most likely be stuck behind a desk writing obituaries if she did any writing at all.

And after her experience with the Winchesters, sitting behind a boring desk writing boring articles every boring day seemed so meaningless.

A month ago in Des Moines, Sam told her that she would make a good hunter, and since then, his words had continually replayed in her head. With her love for excitement, passion for exploration, knowledge of the occult, and experience with the supernatural, Jennifer secretly agreed with Sam.

She wanted to be a hunter. She wanted to save people. She longed to make a difference in the world. But she hadn't realized it until she'd been called into the _Beacon_ for an interview.

"Miss Bane," Clifton Bowers said, glancing over her résumé. "I see you have no prior experience in journalism."

"No, sir." She nervously fingered her black pleated skirt. "Except for my bachelor's degree."

"Alright. And you've only worked one job, correct?"

"Yes, sir. I've waited tables at Gene's Restaurant since I was seventeen."

"Ah." Mr. Bowers set the piece of paper on his desk. "Well, I'm going to be straight up with you, Miss Bane."

Jennifer swallowed hard, wondering what the man was about to tell her. At this point, she wasn't even sure what she _wanted _him to tell her.

Mr. Bowers took off his reading glasses and placed them in his shirt pocket. "We can only hire a select number of writers here at the _Beacon_, and we're really looking for someone with more experience."

Jennifer released the breath she had unknowingly been holding and sighed, relieved. Yes. She felt it. _Relief_.

"I'm terribly sorry for wasting your time, though it was a pleasure to meet you," he told her. He rose from his chair, so she did the same. "Maybe in a couple of years or so, when you've gotten more experience under your belt, you'll come back to us."

She smiled. "Maybe so." But she sincerely doubted it.

"Okay, then." Mr. Bowers smiled back and extended his hand toward her.

She shook it. "Thanks."

"Thank you." He nodded her off.

Oddly encouraged by her failure to find a job, Jennifer left the office of _The Antioch Beacon _with confidence.

* * *

_Varnell, Oklahoma._

Dressed in a navy jumpsuit, Dean Winchester rolled a cart covered with janitorial supplies down a locker-filled hallway inside Edward Bateman High School. Sam, also clad in a matching jumpsuit, tagged along behind him.

Dean huffed. "Why do I have to push the damn cart?"

"Just because."

"It wouldn't be so bad if we didn't have to wear these stupid outfits. This jumpsuit's giving me a mega wedgie."

Sam wrinkled his nose. "Good to know, Dean."

"It's ridiculous."

"Just shut up and look around, would you?" Sam pointed to their left. "There. That's the bathroom where the girl…went missing."

Dean rolled his eyes. "You mean where she got sucked down a damn toilet."

"Stop looking at me like that. That's what the _eyewitnesses_ said, not _me_."

"People can't get sucked down toilets, Sam. It's not humanly possible."

Sam held the door to the girls' bathroom open while Dean maneuvered the cart inside. "Apparently it is."

"Hello!" Dean called out. "Anybody in here?"

They waited for a response and got none.

Sam whipped an EMF detector out of one of his many pockets.

"So. This is where it all went down," Dean said, parking the cart. He chuckled. "Get it? Went down?"

"Yeah, I got it." And Sam wasn't laughing.

Dean's grin faded. He proceeded to pull out his own EMF meter and have a look around. "You got anything yet?"

"Nope."

"Me neither." Dean entered one of the stalls and guided the device around, searching for electromagnetic frequency. "I don't think we're gonna find anything here, Sammy." He grinned. "Looks like your case is going down the drain."

Sam pursed his lips. "Would you stop it with all the stupid toilet jokes?"

Dean laughed. "Sorry, it's too easy."

"Well, it's not funny." Just then, Sam's EMF detector beeped loudly. He waved Dean over. "I think I got something."

He was standing right outside the stall blocked off with police tape.

The EMF detector was going wild. "There's definitely some spirit activity going on in here," Sam proudly confirmed.

The bathroom door opened. Two young teenage girls entered the room and gasped at the sight of them.

"Excuse us," Dean told them. He slipped his EMF detector into a pocket. "We were just cleaning."

The shorter of the two girls frowned. "You're not the usual janitors."

"Oh, uh…they went home early." Dean gave them a big smile.

Sam took a step toward the girls. "Isn't this bathroom off limits to students?"

"Yeah." The short girl kept her eyes on the tile floor. "We're sorry. But we just had to see it for ourselves."

"See what?" Sam inquired.

"Where the ghost killed Jada Peterson," the taller girl blurted out.

Dean and Sam exchanged glances. "Ghost?" they asked in unison.

The tall girl seemed shocked. "You haven't heard the school ghost story?"

"We're new," Dean said.

"A long time ago, there was this guy, a student, and everyone made fun of him because he was a nerd. He was like, really skinny and short, and he wore big glasses and stuff," the tall girl informed them. "One day, the nerdy guy got into a big fight with the school bully. It turned really bad, and the bully dragged him into this bathroom and give him a swirlie, then another, and then another. Then the last time, he held him under too long, and he drowned."

"Now they say the nerd's ghost haunts the bathroom and kills bullies," the short girl said.

Sam's eyebrows arched. "Was this Jada girl a bully?"

"Yeah. She was kind of a bitch."

Dean and Sam looked at each other.

* * *

Jennifer and her best friend, Alanna Parkhurst, were the only customers inside Mona's Pies, a locally-owned pizza parlor situated in downtown Antioch. That wasn't strange, however, considering it was three o'clock in the afternoon. The young women had finished their meal long before three, but after getting caught up in a deep conversation, they had continued to stay at the restaurant.

"I just don't get it, Jennifer," Alanna told her. "What are you going to do? I mean, you've got rent to pay, bills to pay. Surely you don't wanna stay at Gene's Restaurant forever."

Jennifer cringed. "Oh, gosh, no."

"Then what's your plan?"

She sighed. "I don't know. I just really don't know."

"Jen," Alanna started, but hesitated before she spoke again. "Ever since all this happened with Trevor Bradley and Brother Frank and the Winchesters, you've been a different person. You've always been one to plan ahead, and now…"

"I know. Believe me, Alanna, I know." Jennifer rubbed her temples in frustration. "I _feel_ like a different person. After Des Moines, I just feel like I need to make some changes in my life."

Alanna knew all about Jennifer's impromptu trip Des Moines. No one else knew, not even Jennifer's parents. But Alanna had been told just about every detail of the excursion. "What kind of changes?" Alanna worried about the answer.

Jennifer sighed. "I don't know."

"You're talking in circles."

"I know, and I'm sorry. I just don't know what to do about anything." She swallowed. "My apartment lease ends at the end of the month, and I'm thinking about not renewing it."

That was news to Alanna. "Are you moving?"

Jennifer shrugged.

"Oh, no. You're not thinking about…oh, please, no…you're not trying to do what the Winchesters do, are you?"

Jennifer's lack of response was plenty enough.

"Jennifer!" Alanna's mouth fell open. "That's crazy!"

"Look, I'm only considering it if I have another nightmare," Jennifer said. "Or a feeling or something. If it happens again, I am not ignoring it. I learned my lesson."

Alanna was overwhelmed by the information. She didn't know what to say.

"Please, Alanna, don't freak out. If nothing happens, then I'll forget about all this, and I'll try to find a job in Birmingham. Or Montgomery, maybe."

Alanna exhaled loudly. "Do you promise?"

"What, to forget about it if nothing else comes up?"

"Yes."

"Yes, Alanna, I promise."

"Okay."

"But if something _does _come up, if I have another nightmare about somebody dying, or if I have a feeling that I should do something slightly insane, like running halfway across the country to save somebody, I've gotta do it. I have to."

Alanna nodded. "Alright. I understand."

Jennifer peered into her friend's eyes and smiled. "Thank you. You're a good friend."

* * *

After speaking with a few more locals and doing a little research in the school library, Dean and Sam had discovered that the legends were true. A high school student really had died in the restroom in the late sixties. The deceased nerd's name was Robert Finkle, and his body was buried in a cemetery a few miles away from the school. Upon nightfall, the brothers headed to the graveyard, shovels and salt in tow.

"That oughta do it," Dean said, tossing aside an empty bag of salt.

Sam sprinkled gasoline over Robert Finkle's salted remains. He struck up a match and dropped it into the reeking coffin.

"Man." Dean watched as the corpse burst into flames. "I still wanna know if ole Robert was actually sucking his victims down the toilet."

Sam sighed.

"It just seems like a stretch."

"_Everything_ we see seems like a stretch," Sam reminded him.

"Yeah. But it's just more bizarre than usual." Dean frowned. "I mean, really. People can't even take a decent B.M. anymore without worrying about getting killed? What's the world come to?"

* * *

That same night, back in Alabama, Jennifer was curled up on her sofa with her laptop resting across her thighs. She was making her nightly "e-rounds", which consisted of checking her e-mail, checking her Facebook, and browsing the latest national headlines.

She was a little disappointed to find no new e-mails in her inbox. No new comments or wall postings on Facebook.

However, the news had plenty of new stories. Of course. There was always something bad going on in the world.

Jennifer was saddened as she skimmed over the headlines:

_Nine U.S. Soldiers Killed In Suicide Bombing._

_Four Teens Fatally Shot In School Parking Lot._

_Young Colorado Woman Mysteriously Dies In Her Home._

The word 'mysteriously' captured her attention. She clicked on the link:

_**TRENTON, Co. - - **__Wyatt County police are trying to unravel a mystery and determine how a 23-year-old woman was killed inside her home._

Jennifer read on and was intrigued by what she found.


	18. 1x4, III: One Step Closer

_Amarillo Motel,_

_Varnell, Oklahoma._

"So." Dean glanced up from the switchblade he was sharpening and stared at his brother. "Now that we've finished up the case of the haunted toilet, where to? Some place where it's safe to take a dump, I hope."

Sam sighed and looked away from his laptop. "Don't you feel, I don't know, kinda bad? A girl _died_ that way."

"I know. And I'm sure it was painful." Dean winced. "Really freakin' painful."

"Yeah. It had to have been."

Dean grinned obnoxiously. "It was a real _crappy _way to go."

Sam glared at him.

"Sorry, sorry. I'm done."

"I hope _you _get sucked down a toilet, Dean."

"Me too, Sammy. Me too," Dean threw back at him. "Then you can sit around in silent, somber solitude without ever laughing or cracking a smile."

Sam rolled his hazel eyes and turned to his laptop screen. "I think I know where to go next."

"Where?"

"Trenton, Colorado." Sam summed up an online article for him. "A guy found his twenty-three-year-old girlfriend dead in her house. Doors were locked from the inside, and there were no signs of a break-in. Sound familiar?"

Dean flipped the blade over and dragged the sharpening stone on the other side. "Sounds like Trevor Bradley, that telepathic kid from Alabama."

"Exactly. Both were twenty-three, same M.O. Plus, I did some checking, and coincidentally, the area around Trenton has been having lots of electrical storms and crop failures, too."

"More demonic omens."

"Just like in Alabama."

"Well," Dean said, grinding the stone against his blade. "I obviously know where you're going with this."

"Dean, if I'm right, if this girl turns out to be another one of the yellow-eyed demon's psychics, we'll be one step closer to finding him," Sam said, "and finding answers about me and my destiny."

Dean simply nodded.

"Trenton, Colorado, is only three hours away," Sam told him. "We've gotta check it out."

* * *

_Antioch, Alabama._

It had been almost three hours since Jennifer had come across the article about Grace Ingram's mysterious death, and in those three hours, she had discovered a wealth of new information.

As she clicked through the headlines listed on the websites of various newspapers, her words to her best friend echoed in her head:

_"If something _does_ come up, if I have a feeling that I should do something slightly insane, like running halfway across the country to save somebody, I've gotta do it. I have to."_

Well, something came up.

Jennifer had been drawn to the article about Grace Ingram, and upon reading it, she felt the need to keep looking into the case. A few clicks of her computer mouse led her to find that the area of Trenton, Colorado, Grace's hometown, was teeming with demonic omens.

She immediately thought of Trevor Bradley and the other "psychic children" that Sam had mentioned. Grace Ingram _had_ to be connected to them.

Then she had an idea.

Wherever omens popped up, so did demons. And when demons came around, death followed. This inspired Jennifer to do a nationwide search for omens. She learned that New Mexico had been especially stormy lately. She read about a series of crop failures throughout the Midwest. But those happenings were nothing out of the ordinary.

Biloxi, Mississippi, however, had _all_ the signs of demonic presence.

Jennifer checked the online version of the _Biloxi-Gulfport Sun Herald_ for unexplainable phenomena and/or recent deaths. There were none listed. _Yet_.

She decided to try her best to keep it that way.

Ignoring the late hour, Jennifer threw a few of her things into her suitcase, grabbed a handful of cash from her savings jar, and shivered with excitement as she set out upon a southbound highway.

* * *

_Trenton, Colorado._

The Winchester brothers arrived in Trenton a little after nine the next morning.

They tracked down Grace Ingram's boyfriend, Shane Dulles, and asked him a few questions about how he had discovered the corpse. Not surprisingly, the interview wasn't very helpful. Shane was too broken up about his long-time girlfriend's death to talk about it, and what he _did _tell them, they already knew.

This prompted Sam and Dean to take a look around Grace's house, an old-fashioned two bedroom bungalow situated on a quiet suburban street.

Unlike the apartment of the late Trevor Bradley, Grace Ingram's home contained no noticeable connections to the occult. The living room carpet was clean, unstained by blood spatters and complex protective sigils. Instead of a disturbing anthology of demon-related books, Grace's bookshelves were filled with novels, mostly mystery and romance, and a collection of hardbacks and college textbooks on the field of nursing.

Dean discovered several pairs of scrubs while going through the large closet in the master bedroom. A nametag attached to one pair identified Grace as an LPN at Trenton Medical Center.

By all outward appearances, Grace Ingram seemed completely normal.

Dean was satisfied with the results of his search. He glanced over his shoulder at Sam, who was going through a drawer of the nightstand. "Well, man," Dean told him. "Looks like we were wrong about this chick being one of the psychics. The onlything supernatural in the whole place is the sulfur in the living room."

"So far." Sam removed a small leatherbound book from the top drawer of the bedside table. He flipped through the pages, briefly glancing over their contents. He looked up at Dean. "Check this out."

The older Winchester strolled across the room and stopped at his brother's side. "What?"

"Grace kept a journal. Maybe there's something in here."

Dean peered over Sam's shoulder at the diary. There was nothing strange about it either. Grace hadn't written '_I Heart Satan_' over and over in girly, cursive letters, and she hadn't been doodling pentagrams. Her thoughts were neatly recorded in purple ink. "Sam, I really don't-"

"Just wait a minute, okay?" Sam turned a page. Then another. Suddenly, his jaw tightened. "Dean, listen to this: 'I'd hoped the nightmares were over, but I dreamed about the yellow-eyed man again last night.'"

Dean gulped. "She dreamed about Yellow Eyes too."

Sam kept reading: "'He told me that I need to use the gift he's given me the way it's supposed to be used. And this time, he told me to do something even worse than before- he told me to kill someone. A secretary in Peoria. He wants me to slit her throat. He said if I don't do it, he'll come for me.'" Sam glanced up at Dean, wide-eyed with terror. "Secretary in Peoria? Dean, she's gotta be talking about Ava. What if that's why we can't find her? What if Grace killed her?"

"Hold on a second, Sammy." Dean frowned. "Grace is dead, remember? Most likely ganked by Yellow Eyes. I'm guessing this is just like what happened to Trevor. Grace didn't do what the demon wanted her to do, and he killed her for it. Don't go turning her into a monster too."

Sam didn't appear reassured.

* * *

_Biloxi, Mississippi._

Jennifer studied every detail of everything in sight as she drove down Highway 90, a four-lane road running alongside the cerulean waters of the Gulf of Mexico. She was so busy scanning both sides of the highway, hoping any element of the scenery would jumpstart her intuition, she struggled to keep her eyes on the asphalt stretched out before her.

She didn't know where she was going, who she was looking for, or what she might be getting herself into. She was relying solely on instinct.

As she drove past one luxurious casino after another, she felt _nothing_. No premonition. No spark. Nothing.

Jennifer was already beginning to accept the fact that her sixth sense had screwed up when she spotted the entrance to the public beach.

_There_. That was it.

That odd feeling of gravitation settled over her as she stared at the palm trees. But it was more than just the promise of waves and sand that attracted her; something else was pulling her toward the beach entrance.

With no clue where she would go next, Jennifer flicked on the turn signal and guided her Honda into the parking lot.

The place was nearly empty. The overcast day had apparently scared off visitors. In fact, there were only two other vehicles in the parking lot besides her own- a station wagon and a shady-looking van.

_The van_.

Jennifer's stomach knotted itself. Of all the lovely places, attractions, and things she'd seen so far in Biloxi, she just _had _to be drawn to the creepiest of them all. But what could she do? That van was evidently the reason she was there.

She pulled closer to it. From where she was, she could only see the rear of the navy blue automobile, but that was enough to associate it with the kind of vans child molesters and rapists drive. Yep. It was definitely a bad guy van.

Jennifer tried to comfort herself by remembering the knife and can of Mace in her purse. She heaved a sigh and coasted forward, placing her car on the left side of the old van.

"Oh my gosh," she said to herself. From her new position, a huge painting on the side of the van was now visible- an airbrushed barbarian queen riding a polar bear. "You've gotto be kidding me."

Worried about whoever might be lurking inside of the uber-creepy van, Jennifer breathed a prayer for her safety. She shifted the Accord into park, cut off the engine, and unbuckled her seatbelt. But she remained inside her car for an extra long time before getting out. Then she stood around next to her own car for a while. Finally, she gathered up her courage and approached the van.

She watched the windows as she neared the vehicle, expecting to spot some long-haired, bell-bottom-wearing, weed-smoking hippie man reclining shirtless in the backseat.

Surprisingly, the van was empty.

Jennifer glanced around the beach, confused. There was only one person nearby- a short-haired, jacket-and-jeans-wearing, lonely-looking guy about her age sitting on a park bench, staring out at the ocean. Although he looked nothing like the creep she had imagined, she _knew _he was the owner of the van. And she knew she had to talk to him.

She headed toward him. He hadn't seen her yet. His eyes were focused ahead, fixed on the tumultuous waves crashing against the shoreline. "Excuse me."

The guy jumped a little. He glanced up at her. His eyes were a little bloodshot, she noticed, and his gaze seemed to go past her.

"Is that your van?" Jennifer asked him.

"Oh, that one back there?" His voice sounded sluggish. He might have been stoned. "Yeah."

"Oh. Cool. I, uh, love the polar bear."

The guy smiled. He was kind of cute when he smiled. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. It's awesome."

"Thanks."

"So…" Jennifer tried to keep the conversation going. "You come here often?"

"Nope," he answered. "Never even been here before. I'm just passing through."

"Really?"

He nodded. "You?"

"Oh, uh, the same, actually. Just passing through." She smiled and offered her hand to him. "I'm Jennifer Bane."

He shook it firmly. "Andy Gallagher. Nice to meet you."

Something within her almost clicked when he introduced himself. His name was supposed to mean something to her, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Andy Gallagher. Andy Gallagher. _Andy Gallagher_. He was one of the "psychic children" Sam had told her about.

Everything suddenly made sense.

* * *

_Trenton, Colorado._

Black Sabbath's "Iron Man" was blaring from the car speakers so loudly, the Winchesters almost didn't hear Dean's cell phone ringing. But during the short post-chorus drum solo, his ringtone became audible. Sam reached over and turned down the volume as Dean dug around in his jacket pocket for his cell.

"Hello?" Dean answered. "Oh, uh, hey, Jennifer." He turned to Sam and wrinkled his forehead, wondering why in the world Jennifer Bane was calling him.

Sam's facial expression proved he was thinking the same thing.

"_What?_" Dean's eyebrows arched even higher. "What the hell were you thinking?" A really long pause. "You're kidding." A shorter pause. "Look, we'll be there as soon as we can, okay? Don't do anything stupid." He rolled his eyes. "Anything _else _stupid. I'm serious. Be careful. We're on our way." He slapped his phone shut.

"What's going on?" Sam wanted to know.

"Things just got way weirder," Dean told him. "Jennifer Bane is in Biloxi with Andy Gallagher, and they need our help."

Sam was stunned. "…Are you…serious?"

"Unfortunately. This is crazy." Dean jerked the steering wheel of the Impala and skillfully busted a sharp U-turn in the middle of the road.


	19. 1x4, IV: Another One Bites the Dust

_Seabreeze Motel,_

_Biloxi, Missisippi._

_Late that night._

_KNOCK, KNOCK!_

In a split second, Jennifer hopped up from the bed where she'd been sitting. She ran to the door and checked the peephole.

Dean and Sam.

She sighed with relief as she undid the latch and opened the door. "You got here fast," she greeted them.

"You sounded like you'd gotten yourself into a heap of trouble, so we tried," Dean responded.

She stepped out the way, allowing them entrance. "Come in. And watch the salt."

The brothers glanced at the faux wood floor. A thick streak of rock salt lined the doorsill. "Good thinking," Dean commented. He and Sam carefully stepped across it and entered the island-themed room.

"Hey, you guys," Andy Gallagher said, not bothering to get up from one of the two beds in the room. He was sprawled out across its peach-colored bedspread, nervously running an index finger across one of the pineapples printed on the coverlet.

Dean dipped his head to acknowledge the guy. "'Sup, man?"

Andy gave him an awkward wave.

Sam seemed happy to see him. "Hey, Andy." He walked across the floor and stood at the edge of the bed where Andy reclined. "You alright?"

"I think so," Andy replied, though his countenance didn't agree. His face was wrought with unease, and he was now wringing his hands anxiously. "I'm not dead yet, right? So that's cool."

"Yeah." Sam smiled. "How about we keep it that way?"

Dean turned to Jennifer and grinned. "So. Did he have to use his mind powers to get you in here? And by 'here' I mean a beachside motel room that you've had to yourselves for an entire day."

Jennifer folded her arms across her chest and frowned at him.

"No way, man," Andy defended himself. "I don't use the mind control thing anymore."

Sam raised a brow. "You don't?"

Andy shook his head. "No. Well, except by accident. Like the other day when I was at this restaurant. I had this cute waitress, you know? She asked me what I wanted to eat, and I totally screwed up and asked her to bring me one of everything on the menu. I was just joking around, being stupid. I didn't even think about it 'til she kept bringing me plates of crap, like, literally everything on the menu."

"Wow." Dean was slightly jealous. "That's amazing."

"It sucks out loud, man," Andy countered. "Mind control freakin' ruined my life."

Sam seated himself on the edge of the bed. "How'd you end up in Biloxi?"

"After everything that happened back home when I met you guys, the stuff with my brother, the stuff with Tracy..." Andy stared at a bronze starfish decoration mounted on the wall behind Sam's head. "I just couldn't stay there anymore."

Sam nodded with understanding. "Can't blame you for that."

"I got in my van and went for a drive," Andy went on. "I just followed the road and stopped whenever I felt like it. I ended up here."

"How long have you been here?" Dean asked.

"Uh…about a week."

Dean cleared his throat. "I guess we'll need to get a room too. You wanna go with me to the office, Jennifer?"

"Yeah." She nodded. "Sure."

Everyone in the room could tell from his tone that they weren't _actually_ going to the office, but no one said anything. Jennifer followed Dean out the door into the moonlit parking lot.

Once they were a good distance away from the motel room, Dean turned to her. "You wanna give me all the details now?"

She sighed and told him everything. The article about Grace Ingram's death, the omens in Trenton, Colorado, and her nationwide search for more. Dean didn't want to admit it, but he was once again impressed by her research and tracking skills. And although though her following another hunch and driving all the way to Biloxi was risky, he secretly admired her for it.

"-and when I figured out who Andy was, I pieced everything together," Jennifer was telling him. "I just _knew_ that with all the omens around Biloxi, Andy was going to be the next psychic to die. So I called you."

"Smart move," Dean remarked.

"Well, I knew I couldn't do anything else to help him. I learned a lot from Brother Frank, but not _that_ much." She bit her lip and leaned against the Impala. "Um, while we were waiting for you to get here, we sat around and talked. He told me that he'd stopped using his ability, and he told me why."

Curious, Dean lifted an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Remember what you told me about Trevor and Grace Ingram? Their nightmares? Andy's been having them too. The yellow-eyed demon has been telling him to do things." Though she knew Andy couldn't hear them, Jennifer lowered her voice anyway. "The demon wanted him to kill a nurse in Colorado."

"Grace?"

She nodded. "Andy _swears _he didn't do it. He says after the demon told him to, he did everything he could to distance himself from him. That's why he quit using his mind control."

"Andy's a sweet kid. I believe him. But if he _didn't_ kill Grace, then that makes him demon lunch for sure."

"Exactly."

"Man."

"From everything I've been told, it sounds like the yellow-eyed demon is turning all the psychics against each other. Like he's testing them, trying to see which ones are willing to kill for him, trying to find out who's the most evil."

Dean swallowed hard. "Like he's trying to find the best one to lead his army."

Jennifer shivered at the thought.

"We've gotta keep Andy safe," Dean told her. "You were definitely on the right track with the salt, but something tells me we'll need something more powerful."

* * *

"How does _that_ keep away demons?" Andy wondered aloud, watching as Sam drew a devil's trap on the ceiling above the door.

"It traps them," Sam replied. "Once a demon walks into the middle of one, they can't go anywhere."

Andy kept staring. "But…how?"

"That's just the way it works, Andy," Dean told him, polishing his Glock handgun.

_Knock, knock, knock_.

Everyone looked at each other.

"Do demons usually knock?" Andy asked.

Sam set his supplies aside and glanced out the peephole. He turned to Dean, wide-eyed. "It's Ava."

"Who?" Andy questioned him.

"Ava Wilson. She's another one of us. A psychic," Sam said softly. He yanked open the door.

Ava leaped forward and threw her arms around him. "Oh, Sam, thank God!" She squeezed him and pulled away. "You're alive!"

"So are you," Sam replied, smiling. "We've been looking for you for months. Where've you been?"

"Sam, I had another dream that you died," Ava exclaimed breathlessly. "I had to find you."

Jennifer suddenly began to feel uncomfortable. She sensed evil. She softly nudged Dean's leg with her foot, trying to be discreet but also trying to catch his attention.

His eyes met hers.

She mouthed, _'Something's wrong.'_

_'What?' _he mouthed back.

'_It's her.' _

Dean slowly reached for his Glock handgun.

"Ava, you never answered my question," Sam told her. "What have you been doing this whole time?"

Ava closed the door behind her and flashed an evil smile. "Practicing." She closed her eyes and shoved an open palm in Dean's direction. The gun slipped out of his hands as he jerked backward into the headboard.

"Dean!" Sam cried out.

"Hush, Sammy," Ava told him. "I'm not gonna hurt your brother."

Jennifer ran to Dean's side. He was unharmed, but Ava's mind trick had paralyzed him for the moment.

"That's not why I'm here." Ava stepped toward Andy Gallagher. "Hey, Andy. This might hurt a little." Just like with Dean, she thrust her hand toward Andy as she concentrated.

Andy squeezed his eyes shut and instinctively shielded his face with his arms, prepared for his doom.

But nothing happened.

Ava was surprised. "What the hell?" She closed her eyes, held her arm steady, and tried again.

Still nothing.

Andy lowered his arms. "Seriously?" He grinned big. "Oh, epic fail, man!"

"Why isn't it working?" Ava wanted to know.

"Apparently, psychics can't work their mojo on other psychics," Sam explained.

Across the room, Dean took advantage of Ava's distraction.

"The gun," he whispered to Jennifer. "Get the gun."

Ava whipped around and frowned at Dean. "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to bring a gun to a fist fight?" She pinned Jennifer to the wall beside the bed before she could reach the weapon.

"How the hell did you learn to do that?" Sam demanded from her.

Ava shrugged her shoulders and pointed to her head. "It was up here the whole time. I just stopped fighting it."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Fighting what?"

"Who we are, Sam. And you too, Andy. If both of you would just quit your hand-wringing and open yourself up…oh, you have no idea what you can do! The learning curve is so fast, it's crazy, the switches that just flip in your brain. I can't believe I started out just having dreams. Do you know what I can _do_ _now_?"

"Yeah," Dean grunted in his immobile state. "I think we do."

"Oh, Dean. Always so quick on the draw." Ava fixed her eyes on Andy. "I'm sorry, Andy. I am. But I have to do this." She stretched her right leg behind her and kicked the salt line with her foot, breaking it. She shut her eyes again and put her hand to her head.

Andy gasped. "What are you doing?"

Tendrils of thick, black smoke slithered under the bottom of the door.

"Ava, stop!" Sam shouted, pushing Andy behind him.

The charcoal colored cloud suddenly materialized into a man with obsidian-like eyes.

"Holy crap!" Andy breathed, peeking over Sam's shoulder. "A demon?"

The demon flung Sam across the room, exposing Andy.

Andy peered up at the ceiling, noticing that Sam hadn't had a chance to complete the devil's trap. "_Seriously?_" Andy gulped. "FML!"

The black-eyed man raced toward Andy and tore into him.

"No!" Sam yelled.

Blood splattered everywhere as the demon ripped Andy Gallagher apart.

When the job was finished, the creature vanished. Sam fell to the floor. He stayed there for a while, trying to get his bearings.

"And another one bites the dust," Ava said, satisfied.

Sam's eyes darted from Andy's scattered remains to Ava's smug face. "How could you?"

"I had no choice," she replied. "It was either him or me."

Dean and Jennifer struggled to move but still could not.

Slowly, Sam rose to his feet. "You killed your fiancée too, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but it'll all be worth it in the end, Sam," she said, smiling. "I've actually got a shot at this."

"At what? Being the leader for the yellow-eyed demon's army?"

"Yes!" Her eyes were wild with exhilaration. "So far, I'm the undefeated heavyweight champ."

_The gun. _Sam needed to get the Glock handgun.

"And I'm really sorry, Sam," Ava said, "but this oughta seal the deal."

_He had to get the gun. _

"It's over for you, Sam."

_The gun. He had to kill her._

Ava's hand rose to her temple once more as her eyes closed.

_Kill her. Kill her. Kill her._

Sam dove across the room and retrieved the Glock. The black smoke was already back for an encore performance when he aimed the weapon at Ava Wilson. He cocked the gun. Pulled the trigger.

Surprise covered Ava's face as she reeled backward from impact. She dropped to the floor, dead.

The smoke disappeared.

Dean and Jennifer were released from her grip.

Sam trembled as he held the gun. A realization had settled upon him- he had just been forced to kill one of the yellow-eyed demon's psychic children.


	20. 1x4, V: Not Normal

_Biloxi Public Beach,_

_Biloxi, Mississippi._

As he watched the blue-green waves rise and fall against the shore, Dean sat on the same park bench Andy Gallagher had occupied just two days ago. He sat there alone, relaxing for a while as his younger brother strolled along the water's edge.

Dean closed his eyes.

For a moment, there were no demons, no ghosts, no psychic children with evil destinies. There was only peace and tranquility. The warmth of the sun on his face. The soothing gush of the ocean's waves. The faint cawing of seagulls.

"You ready to go?" Sam's voice ruined the moment.

Dean sighed and opened his eyes. "Can we just sit here for a second?"

"Yeah, sure." Sam plopped down beside him and got comfortable. "It's nice, isn't it?"

"Sure is."

"We never get to do stuff like this."

Dean nodded.

They were both quiet for a few minutes as they enjoyed their surroundings.

Sam cleared the phlegm from his throat. "I, uh, I was right about Ava."

There it was. Back to the evil of the real world.

"She _did_ turn out to be a killer," Sam continued solemnly.

"But Andy _didn't_," Dean pointed out.

Sam heaved a sigh. "And he was killed, just like the others." He swallowed. "And Dean..." A pause. "_I_ killed Ava."

Dean looked at him. "She killed Andy first, and she came close to wasting you too. Probably woulda killed all of us if you hadn't gotten her first."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. He stared at a seagull marching across the sand. "But it felt like something inside was telling me to do it. Like something in me wanted to end her."

"Dude, that was your _brain_. It was functioning properly."

"No, it was different." Sam hesitated. "And when she dropped dead, I don't know, it was like…it felt like I'd done what the demon wanted me to do."

Dean's breath caught in his throat at the statement, but he tried to hide his uneasiness. After a bit of silence, Dean, still gazing ahead at the sea, opened his mouth to speak. "Sam?" He wet his lips. "You'd tell me if you were having nightmares like the other psychics…wouldn't you? If you were dreaming about Yellow Eyes? If he was telling you to do things?"

Sam's eyebrows jumped up. "You think I'm keeping something from you?"

"I didn't say that."

"But that's what you implied."

Dean turned to face him. "No, I wasn't implying anything either. I was just making sure we're on the same page." He returned his attention to beach. "But you're not, right? You're not keeping anything from me? No dreams?"

"No, Dean," Sam exhaled. "No dreams."

"Alright." He forced a smile. "Just checkin'."

They tried to enjoy the ocean a little while longer.

* * *

Dean took Jennifer's suitcase from her hands and placed inside the trunk of her maroon Honda Accord. "There you go," he said, slamming it shut.

She smiled at the surprisingly thoughtful gesture. "Thank you, Dean."

"No problem."

"So." She shoved her hands into the pockets of her blue jeans. "Where are you two headed now?"

Dean grinned. "Well, we were thinking about sticking around here in Biloxi for a few days and hitting up a casino or two. Maybe playing some craps, maybe trying our luck at the slots…" He trailed off.

"Oh, really?" Sam half-smiled. "You seriously wanna try _our_ luck?"

Dean simply shrugged. "You can come too if you want," he invited Jennifer with a wink.

"Although that sounds like fun," she said, "I'm thinking about looking into a potential case in Tennessee."

"A potential _case_?" Dean repeated. "Please tell me you're joking."

"Nope. I'm not. Someone else was found dead in their home. An older woman. There were no demonic omens in the area, but something tells me there's a little more to her death than the cops will admit."

Dean shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "But you just told me you didn't know enough to work alone. What are you gonna do when you get there and you don't know what the hell to do?"

She grinned obnoxiously. "Then I guess I'll call you."

"Cute," Dean snarled.

"Or…we could all go together," she reluctantly suggested. "We make a good team."

"I, uh, I don't mean to be rude, Jennifer, but Sam and I get along just fine by ourselves. We have for years."

She frowned. "Is that so?"

Dean nodded.

"You mean like that time not so long ago when, if I hadn't helped out, Ava would have most likely kept killing people while you continued to think she was innocent?" Jennifer sassed. "Or that time in Des Moines when that shapeshifter would have killed you both if I hadn't shown up?"

Dean rolled his green eyes.

Sam shrugged. "She's sorta right, you know."

"Jennifer," Dean said. "You may have helped us a time or two, and trust me, we're grateful for that, but…you're an amateur. You don't even know how to shoot."

Jennifer straightened her posture. "You don't know that."

"Okay." Dean cocked his head to the left. "Do you know how to shoot?"

"I'm from Alabama. A small mountain town in Alabama, at that." She sighed. "When I was a kid…I used to go turkey hunting with my cousins."

Dean and Sam looked at each other.

"It's a totally redneck thing to do, I know. I'm not proud of it," Jennifer admitted. "But yeah. My older cousins taught me how to shoot a 12-gauge shotgun. And I might have killed a wild turkey or two in my day."

Still surprised by the unexpected bit of information Jennifer had sprung upon them, Dean took a moment to reply. "Well, sweetheart, wild turkeys and demons are two very different things."

"Aside from all of that," Sam chimed in. "What about your career? You just earned your bachelor's degree."

"I don't care. I can't find a job anyway. That's not what I wanna do anymore." She sighed again. "After all that's happened the past couple of months, I _can't_ sit at a desk doing some meaningless work."

"What about a few years down the road?" Dean countered. He continued passionately, sounding a bit personal. "What are you gonna do when you don't wanna hunt anymore? When you're tired? When you're sick of pain and death and evil?"

"Hopefully, I'll look back over all the people I helped and tell myself it was worth it," she replied.

"This is stupid," Dean huffed. "Think about this. You have a normal life, a normal family, normal friends. You can't see it now, but those things are special. Those aren't things you don't wanna just give up. Not for this."

Jennifer stared into his eyes. "My life isn't as normal as you think, Dean. Maybe I haven't been through all the things you two have been through, but I'm _not _normal." She took a step closer to him. "My best friend and the two of you are the _only _people who know about my 'abilities' or whatever the crap you wanna call them. I have prophetic dreams and psychic premonitions, I see people's deaths _before_ _they_ _happen_, and my entire life, I've had to walk around, playing some kind of part, hiding who I really am, and trying to fit in with people who would think I was a freak if I told them the truth about me!"

Both of the Winchesters were intrigued by her spill. Sam nodded, knowing exactly where she was coming from. Dean was amazed by the fire in her words, in her eyes. He, too, could empathize.

"I've _never _been 'normal'," she went on. "And after Trevor's death, after Brother Frank's, gosh, after _everything_…it's so clear to me that I'm supposed to do this. I told you before, I feel like I've been given these dreams and premonitions so that I can help people. I've always felt it. And that's why I can't just sit around, trying to live a _normal _life." She finished her speech by firmly declaring, "I've gotta do this, whether you think I can or not."

"Well, there's no use in trying to stop you," Dean finally said. "Obviously, your mind's made up."

She nodded.

"You're inexperienced, but I know you don't care. You'll go anyway." Dean looked at Sam, who simply shrugged his shoulders. He turned back to Jennifer. "As much as we'd like to get rid of you, I don't like the idea of you looking into cases by yourself." He paused, dreading the words that were about to come from his mouth. "I hate to say it, but I think you're right. We should go together."

Jennifer's face brightened. "Really?"

"Yeah." Sam smiled, confident that Dean had done the right thing. "I agree. You should come along with us on a few hunts and see what the job's _really _like."

"You already know a good bit about hunting, enough to keep from getting us killed, and we can teach you more," Dean told her. He wrinkled his nose as he struggled to get his next words out. "And I guess your…turkey hunting experience is better than nothing. Plus, you know how to lie. Or act. Whatever you call it. That's an important skill around us."

"Oh, thank you so much!" Jennifer cried out, trying not to show just how excited as she was.

"Yeah. Whatever." Dean sighed. "So you've got some sorta feeling about Tennessee?"

"Yep. Chauncey, Tennessee. You have to go through Antioch to get there." She smiled proudly. "You wanna look into it?"

Dean looked at Sam.

"Look, Dean, I think we oughta trust her feelings about things," Sam told him.

"Yeah. Definitely," he agreed. He sighed even louder than before. "Okay. We'll head to Chauncey. You can follow in your car, then we'll stop in Antioch to drop it off and let you pick up a few things." He cracked a smile. "Then I guess you and Sam will have to tough it out over who gets shotgun."


	21. 1x5, I: Antique Dolls

A/N: Hey, guys! Thank you so much again for submitting reviews and adding this story to your favorites! It's great to know you guys are still around. I keep repeating myself, but I love to know what kind of things you guys like/dislike/love/loathe. So, please keep the reviews coming! Thanks for reading!

* * *

**"Toys in the Attic"**

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* * *

**

_Then & Now Antique Gallery,_

_Chauncey, Tennessee._

_Two weeks ago._

Geraldine Cook loved to shop for antiques. The remnants of yesterday returned her to her younger days, a time when life was much simpler.

Today, she escaped into the past once again as she strolled through Then & Now Antique Gallery with her daughter and granddaughter.

"Oh, Kathleen!" Geraldine nudged her daughter. She wandered over to a shelf that held a variety of glass vases. She picked up a ruby one covered in gaudily painted daises and turned it upside down to check the price tag. "Ten dollars? My word, that's a steal! I saw a vase almost exactly like it on _The Antiques Roadshow_. It was worth over fifty-thousand dollars!"

Her only child, Kathleen Singleton, heaved a sigh. "Yes, well, that vase on _Antiques Roadshow _was probably blown and hand-painted by some famous dead French artist. _This_ one probably came from Family Dollar ten years ago."

Geraldine frowned at her and set down the vase. "You're too cynical, Kathy."

"Brianna, don't stand so close to the vases," Kathleen told her eight-year-old daughter. "You might break one of them."

The girl moved away from the collectibles and followed her grandmother deeper into the store. "Look, Grandma!" Brianna cried out, pointing ahead of them. She grinned big. "Dolls!"

"Oh, I see them!" Geraldine stroked her grandchild's pale blonde hair as she led her to the display of porcelain dolls. The store must have had at least fifty of them. They were arranged in neat rows that filled several shelves and table tops. "Aren't they lovely?"

Brianna nodded energetically. "Which one are you gonna get today?"

Geraldine carefully scanned the line of dolls. In a less than a minute, she made her choice. "How about this one?" She selected an ivory-skinned doll with auburn ringlets and chubby, rose-colored cheeks.

Kathleen winced as she studied the doll. The plaything's glass eyes stared at her unnaturally. "Why that one, Mother? It gives me the creeps." She gulped. "Your _whole_ _collection _gives me the creeps."

"Don't be silly, Kathy," Geraldine said, fingering the doll's emerald gown. "They're _dolls_."

"I think she's pretty," Brianna spoke up.

Geraldine beamed. "I think so too, sweetie. Let's go pay for her, alright?"

The three generations headed to the cash register.

* * *

Geraldine couldn't wait to get home and add her newest doll to her collection. The moment she entered her apartment, she went straight to her extra bedroom, a room she fondly called "The Doll Room."

The Doll Room was packed to capacity with display cases that held such a high number of dolls, Geraldine had lost count years ago. Various races, ethnicities, time periods, and sizes were represented on Geraldine's shelves. Her porcelain treasures covered the walls from top to bottom, each doll possessing some characteristic that made it unique from the others.

Smiling with satisfaction, she placed her latest addition inside a glass cabinet.

"There you are." Geraldine carefully adjusted the hem of the new doll's Victorian-style satin dress. She brushed its red-orange hair away from its face. "Such a beauty."

She took one last look at her prized possession, closed the cabinet, and locked it.

* * *

Two days had passed since Kathleen Singleton had gone antiquing with her mother, and they had not spoken since then. This was because Geraldine wasn't answering her phone.

Concerned about her aging mother, Kathleen drove to the older woman's apartment. She used her copy of Geraldine's key to let herself inside.

"Mother? It's me." Kathleen's voice echoed in the small place. She crept through the apartment, worried about what she might find. "Are you okay?"

She rounded the corner to the guest bathroom and screamed.

Her mother's bloodied corpse rested in front of the shower.

Next to her lay the newly purchased auburn-haired doll.


	22. 1x5, II: First Day on the Job

_Apartment D-6,_

_Cedar Trace Apartments,_

_Antioch, Alabama._

_Now._

Dean and Sam Winchester sat on opposite ends of Jennifer Bane's sofa, waiting somewhat impatiently while she packed her things.

"Okay!" Jennifer's voice startled them. She rounded the corner of the hallway and entered the living room, rolling a large, red, wheeled duffel bag behind her. She parked it next to two smaller pieces of luggage. "I'm all packed."

"It's about time," Dean complained. He frowned at the pile of bags. "You really need all that?"

She shrugged. "Well…yeah. I just want to be prepared."

"Sweetheart, to _be prepared _for a job like this, you're gonna need a lot more than your Maybelline collection," Dean told her.

"Yeah, I know." Jennifer folded her arms across her purple gingham button-down. "That's why I packed a lot more than that." She nudged one of the bags with the toe of her Sperry boat shoe. "That's my laptop." She directed their attention to the other small bag. "And that's full of books and stuff from Brother Frank."

"You don't have to take your laptop," Sam said to her. "I've got one, and you're free to use it whenever you need to."

"Oh. Alright. Thanks." Jennifer moved the computer bag aside. "But I still think it's a good idea to take my books. It won't hurt to have a couple of reference guides convenient."

Sam nodded in agreement.

"Well." Jennifer's lips twisted into a smile. "I guess I'm ready to go when you are."

"Awesome," Dean replied. He stood to his feet.

Sam did the same. His eyes widened as he stared out the window. "Uh, actually," he said, "I think we've got company."

"What?" Jennifer was confused. She followed his gaze. At some point during their conversation, a silver Kia Sportage had pulled between the Impala and Jennifer's Honda. "Oh, crap!"

"What? Who is it?" Sam inquired.

The doorbell rang.

Jennifer gulped. "It's my mom." She scrambled to hide her luggage behind the couch. "What the heck am I supposed to tell her?"

"I don't know," Dean replied. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his blue jeans and watched her, somewhat amused by the situation. "You got yourself into this mess."

She glared at him as she approached the door. She turned the knob and yanked it open to reveal an older, heavier version of herself dressed in fuchsia-colored scrubs. Alma Bane. The mother of two grown daughters, the wife of David Bane for twenty-six years, and a registered nurse employed at Antioch Regional Medical Center since 1980.

"Hey, Momma." Jennifer greeted the middle-aged brunette with a hug. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I'm on my way to work, and I thought I'd stop by and find out how the interview went," Alma responded warmly. Her voice matched the motherly smile on her face.

_Interview? _Jennifer had already forgotten about it. "Oh, you mean my interview with the newspaper. The _Beacon_."

Alma's thin eyebrows furrowed slightly. "Yes, dear. What other interview would I mean?"

"I don't know, I just got, uh, confused for a second," Jennifer stuttered nervously.

"I tried calling your cell, but I never could get you," Alma told her, frowning. "So. How'd it go?"

"The interview? Oh, uh, fine. It went fine."

Alma's frown was replaced by a smile. "So you got the job?"

"Huh? Oh, no."

The frown was back and harsher than before. "Jennifer, what are you gonna do now? That's the only newspaper around."

Jennifer sighed. "I know."

Alma shook her head. "I bet the hospital's hiring RNs. Actually, I _know _they are. If you'd only listened to your father and me and gone on with your nursing degree, you wouldn't be in this situation. My goodness, a bachelor's degree and no job! How are you gonna pay your rent?"

Dean cleared his throat loudly, announcing his presence.

Alma glanced away from her daughter for a moment and noticed both of the Winchesters. Her face reddened with embarrassment. "I'm so sorry. I didn't even see that you had company." She took a step toward the brothers. "I don't think we've met. I'm Jennifer's mother, Alma."

"This is Sam and Dean," Jennifer apprehensively introduced them.

"Sam and Dean," Alma repeated. "Nice to meet you."

"You too, ma'am," Sam said.

Dean nodded and smiled.

"How do you know each other?" Alma wanted to know.

Jennifer glanced at the brothers, then back at her mother. "Uh…mission trip. Sam and Dean are new to the college and career ministry, and we're all going on a mission trip together."

"Mission trip?" Alma raised a brow. "You haven't said a word about it."

"I haven't? Well, I guess with finals and graduation and everything going on, I just forgot to tell you. We're actually leaving this morning."

"Where are you going?"

Jennifer's mouth gaped open. "Uh…"

Dean had seen enough to know that Jennifer's usual coolness and ease with lying ended around her mother. She was embarrassing herself. "New Orleans," Dean stepped in. "We're helping out Hurricane Katrina victims." He smiled. "Rebuilding houses. Spreading the gospel. Definitely trying some jambalaya."

Alma giggled at that last bit. "That sounds wonderful."

Silence.

"Well, I guess I better get goin', or I'll be late for work," Alma said, backing up to the door. "Y'all have a safe trip. Nice to meet you, boys." She gave her oldest child another hug. "Call me when you get there, okay, hon?"

Jennifer smiled. "I will."

Alma leaned into her daughter's ear and lowered her voice. "We'll talk about the job thing later." Alma patted her on the back and stepped outside. "Bye."

"Bye." Jennifer closed the door. "Thank you," she told Dean.

"No problem. It was no trouble to lie to your mother," Dean huffed. He was silent for a moment as he peered into her eyes. "Jennifer, she seems like a sweet lady. She obviously loves you. Why the hell are you leaving her to do this?"

She looked away and exhaled loudly. "Can we just go please?" She threw her book bag over her shoulder, grabbed the handle to the duffel, and led the way outside.

* * *

_Chauncey, Tennessee._

Randall Singleton opened his front door to find three sharply-dressed strangers on his doorstep. Two young men, one young woman, all wearing black suits.

"Mr. Singleton?" the shorter man asked.

Randall nodded.

"CPD. I'm Detective Paul Stanley," Dean falsely introduced himself, holding up a gold badge. He pointed at Sam. "And this is my partner, Peter Criss." Dean cocked his head toward Jennifer. "And _this _is…uh…Stephanie Nicks. She's new to the force. Miss Nicks is shadowing my partner and I for the day to see how the job's done."

Sam tucked his badge away. "We're sorry to bother you, sir, but we need to ask your wife a few questions about what she saw last week."

Randall sighed. "Okay." He pulled the door open wider. "Come in."

"Thanks." Sam smiled and stepped inside.

Dean and Jennifer followed.

"Sorry about the mess, detectives," Randall apologized, leading them through a maze of stacked cardboard boxes. He cleared a few of them off of the sofa, making room for Jennifer and the Winchesters. "We've been moving all of my mother-in-law's things from her apartment."

The three of them glanced around the living room. Several of the boxes were open, and protruding from most of them were the heads of porcelain dolls. Antique porcelain dolls at that, which, naturally, doubled the creepiness. The glass eyes that followed Dean, Sam, and Jennifer as they made their way to the couch were a bit unsettling.

"Please, sit down," Randall instructed them. He headed into an adjacent room. "I'll tell Kathleen you're here."

"Thanks." Dean said, cautiously eyeing a doll with sinister golden eyes that watched him from one of the boxes. Dean was studying the thing so intently, he almost missed the sofa as he sat down between Jennifer and Sam.

Randall reentered the room with his slender wife. "Kathy, this is Detective Stanley and Detective Criss. And this is Miss Nicks. She's a detective-in-training."

"Hello." Kathleen managed a smile as she gracefully seated herself on the brown loveseat. Randall sat down next to her.

"Looks like your mom collected antiques," Jennifer politely began the conversation.

Kathleen nodded weakly. "She loved antique dolls. She owned hundreds of them. Had a room completely set aside for them."

"Yep," Randall said with a grin. "The Doll Room."

Jennifer smiled. "How nice."

"Not creepy at all," Dean muttered.

"I know," Kathleen said, laughing gently. "I thought it was creepy too. But it was what she loved." She sighed. "After my father passed, it was what she lived for. Collecting those things made her happy."

"So, Mrs. Singleton," Sam started slowly. He smiled, trying to make the transition as painless for the grieving woman as possible. "You're the one who found her, correct?"

In a voice barely above a whisper, Kathleen replied, "Yes."

"I know it's difficult to talk about, but could you tell us what happened last week?" Sam queried.

Kathleen brushed a stray strand of blonde hair behind her left ear. "I, uh, stopped by my mother's apartment because we hadn't talked in a couple of days, and I was worried about her." She swallowed hard. "I found her…on the bathroom floor." Her brown eyes misted over. Randall slipped an arm around her. "There was blood all around her."

Jennifer gulped. "I'm so sorry," she told her, her voice filled with compassion. "It must have been horrible for you."

Kathleen simply nodded.

"In your original statement, you said the front door was locked when you entered," Sam stated.

"Yes," Kathleen replied. "It was locked and bolted. And I didn't see any broken glass or anything either. It didn't look like anyone had broken inside."

"I see. Mrs. Singleton, have you ever noticed anything strange about your mother's apartment?" Dean wanted to know.

She lifted an eyebrow. "Strange?"

"Yeah." Dean involuntarily loosened his cheap black necktie. "You know, uh, maybe strange noises, flickering lights, cold air coming from nowhere?"

"Uhh…" Kathleen's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "No."

"Never?"

"No," she repeated. "Why?"

"It's just a routine question, ma'am," Sam told her with a courteous smile.

Before anyone else had a chance to contribute, a pretty little girl with whitish-blonde hair dashed into the living room, dodging boxes as she ran. "Mom!" she cried. "Ivy broke Dad's watch!"

Randall heaved a sigh and turned to his daughter. "Detectives, this is our daughter, Brianna."

Jennifer smiled at her. "Hey, Brianna."

"Hi." Brianna approached the loveseat and leaned close to her mother. "Mom, Ivy did it on purpose."

"Ivy?" Sam asked.

Kathleen exhaled loudly. "Ivy's her imaginary friend."

"And lately, Brianna has been using her as an excuse to get away with things," Randall added. "Sweetie, I'm not gonna say it again. Ivy isn't real. You need to take responsibility for your own actions."

"But Dad-"

"_Brianna_," Randall warned sternly. The child turned away from him. "Go to your room." With drooping shoulders, Brianna exited the room. "Sorry, detectives. What were you saying?"

The three of them exchanged glances.

"Nothing," Dean finally said. "I think we're done here."

* * *

Sam recapped as Dean backed the Impala out of the Singletons' driveway. "So. Just like with Trevor Bradley and Grace Ingram, we've got a dead woman found in her home, doors locked from the inside, and no signs of break in."

"But," Jennifer spoke up, "we've also got no demonic omens or signs of a haunting."

Dean shifted into drive and sped down the street. "Yep. Stuck at square one. Looks like we've got our work cut out for us."

Sam agreed with a nod.

"Alright, you aspiring demon huntress, you." Dean looked into the rear-view mirror and caught Jennifer's glance. "Where would _you_ go now?"

Jennifer was startled by the spotlight he'd cast on her. "I would, uh, I'd probably check out Geraldine Cook's apartment," she stammered. "Even though it'd be illegal to do that."

"Actually, it depends on how we go about it," Sam replied. "But more than likely, yes. It'll be illegal."

A frown creased her forehead. "Just about everything you two do is illegal, isn't it?"

Dean shrugged. "It's part of the job, Jennifer," he said flatly. "Hunters and the law don't agree. If you wanna do this, you'll have to get used to that."

She silently considered his words for a moment.

"Breaking the law doesn't really matter when you're saving lives, though," Sam reassured her. "People would be dead and families would be destroyed if we didn't flash a fake badge or enter a few crime scenes every now and then. It's the good that comes out of it that really counts."

Jennifer was beginning to understand their reasoning. "Yeah."

"So, we're good?" Dean asked her.

"Yes."

"Great." Dean pressed down on the gas pedal. "Let's go check out the old lady's apartment."

* * *

Lenny Stephens, the owner of Alpine Ridge Apartments, was a money-oriented man. When Dean and Jennifer entered his leasing office, he almost literally saw dollar signs instead of their faces. And when they asked to see an apartment, he could have sworn he heard a loud "cha-ching!"

"Sure," Lenny told them excitedly. He jerked open a desk drawer and removed a set of keys. "I'll be more than happy to show you a model. How many bedrooms are you and the missus thinking about?"

"At least two," Dean replied. Obnoxiously overplaying their cover as usual, he slung an arm around Jennifer's waist. "A place for the nursery is a must. Right, pumpkin?" He gave her a squeeze and grinned at Lenny. "The little lady's expecting. It's our first."

Lenny flashed a toothy smile. "Congratulations! Boy or a girl?"

"It's too early to tell," Jennifer answered, feeling insecure about her belly. Did she really _look _so pregnant that gender could be determined? She self-consciously moved her hands in front of her abdomen.

"Well, I think you'll find that Alpine Ridge is a fantastic place to start a family," Lenny said. "We've got an on-site laundry facility, a pool, a fitness center-"

"Oooh, you hear that, sweetcakes?" Dean elbowed Jennifer. "A fitness center. That'll be great when you're trying to lose that baby weight."

She glared at him. "Yeah. And when _you_ finally decide to bulk up."

Lenny chuckled. "My goodness. Isn't she just witty?"

"Yep. She's a feisty one." Dean patted her shoulder.

"Well, right this way." Lenny jingled the key ring as he led them to the door. "Let's check out that model."

"Actually, Mr. Stephens," Jennifer stopped him. "We were wondering if we could see a particular apartment. 4-A. We heard it just opened up."

Lenny suddenly frowned. "4-A. Yes. But I'm afraid it's already filled."

"What?" Dean returned the frown. "But that was just last week."

"Well, Mr. Springsteen, as I said before, Alpine Ridge is a wonderful place to live. We have a long waiting list of applicants hoping to get in." Lenny pushed open a glass door. "But 1-A has the same floor plan. It's our model. Let's go take a look at it, shall we?"

"We want to see 4-A," Dean persisted.

"I'm sorry, sir, but 4-A is unavailable. A family is moving in later today," Lenny informed them.

Jennifer raised her eyebrows. "So, it's _currently_ empty?"

Lenny groaned. "No, it's-"

"Man, just show us the freakin' apartment, okay?" Dean interrupted. "My wife's got her heart set on that one."

"Yes. It's got…sentimental value," Jennifer said, putting to use a few tips from her course in advanced improvisational acting techniques. "4-A? Dean and I were married on April 4. 4-A? A for April, 4 for the fourth. 4-A. See?"

"But-"

Dean leaned in close to Lenny. "Listen, Chuckles. With her pregnancy hormones, you do _not _want to piss her off. So. If you wanna avoid a major showdown, you'll show her 4-A. Got it?"

Lenny silently nodded and led the way to Geraldine Cook's former apartment.

* * *

_The Rose Garden Motel._

Sam was waiting up for his older brother and his fake pregnant wife in their room at the Rose Garden Motel, an unsurprisingly dumpy place with outlandish décor and questionable stains on the bedsheets.

The cinder block walls had been painted white, and the worn carpet was _once_ white, creating a neutral backdrop for the vibrant red and pink hues of the inexpensive, rose-bloom-patterned bedspreads and rose-themed decorations. The latter included things like a matching pair of doilies with rose buds crocheted in the center hanging above each bed, a hideous, Impressionist-wannabe painting of a peaceful rose garden mounted on each wall, and a random white lattice with cheap, artificial red roses woven throughout its openings stretched from floor to ceiling, separating the sleeping area from the sitting area.

The room had clearly been decorated by an eighty-year-old great-grandmother.

The cherry-colored door suddenly burst open, and Dean and Jennifer entered the room.

Sam glanced up from his laptop screen and grinned. "How's married life?"

"I'm pretty sure Dean and Jennifer Springsteen are about to get divorced," Dean huffed, throwing himself onto one of the double beds. The old mattress squeaked loudly as he did so. "Which sucks, 'cause they've got a kid due any day now."

"Any _day_ now?" Jennifer crossly repeated in question form.

"I was kidding."

"Did you look at Geraldine's apartment?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, finally." Jennifer sat down on the edge of Dean's bed and faced Sam, who sat at the table. "But there was nothing to see."

Sam's eyebrows arched. "Really?"

"Yep." Dean folded his arms behind his head and rested against the headboard. "No sulfur. No ectoplasm. Nothing. They'd already cleaned the place and gotten it move-in ready." He cringed. "Knowing the owner, they probably painted right over the blood stains."

"So, if anything _was _there to point us in the right direction, it's gone now," Jennifer summed up.

Dean nodded. "The owner said a family is moving into that apartment this afternoon. We were thinking it might be a good idea to keep an eye on the place. Make sure whatever killed Geraldine Cook doesn't come back for these people."

"Right." Sam closed his laptop.

"They're gonna start moving stuff in at two, so we've got a while before stakeout time," Dean said. "You wanna grab some lunch?"

"Sure," Sam replied. He looked at Jennifer, who nodded her approval. Sam stood to his feet. "Let me use the restroom first." Sam treaded across the dirty carpet and disappeared into the bathroom.

Jennifer sighed, looking at her bags piled in the corner next to Sam's and Dean's. "Do we _really _have to stay in the same room?" she asked Dean.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I wanna make sure you're safe."

The fact that Dean cared that much surprised her. It impressed her. But it didn't make sharing a room with two men she barely knew any less uncomfortable. She sighed again. "Couldn't we at least get adjoining rooms?"

"Nope. I'm not letting you outta my sight."

They were both quiet for a minute.

"What about when I have to go to the bathroom?" she inquired.

Dean shot her an aggravated look. "You know, you're a real smart ass. It's kind of getting annoying."

"Sorry." Rather reluctantly, she went on. "But I could say the same about you."

The bathroom door opened with a screech. Sam rejoined the twosome. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah," Dean responded. He got up and gave Sam a brotherly slap on the shoulder. "XYZ, Sammy."

Sam gasped. Slightly embarrassed, he turned toward a wall and zipped his jeans.

Jennifer wished she had her own room once more.

* * *

_Later that night._

Randall Singleton leaned over his eight-year-old daughter's bed and pulled the covers to her chin. "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you in front of the police this morning, Brianna," he told her softly, tucking the sheets in around her. "But you're old enough to know that imaginary friends are just that. Imaginary."

"I know that, Dad," Brianna replied. "But Ivy-"

Randall groaned. "What'd I _just_ tell you?"

"I know, Dad, I know. But Ivy needs help."

"Brianna, listen to me," Randall said sharply. "No more Ivy. I don't wanna hear that name ever again. Do you understand?"

Appearing deflated, Brianna stared at the wall. "Yes, sir."

"Good." He kissed her forehead and clicked off her bedside lamp. "Goodnight, sweetie. I love you."

Brianna remained quiet.

Randall heaved a sigh, exited the bedroom, and closed the door behind him. Hungry for a late night snack, he made his way into the kitchen. The chicken casserole a thoughtful neighbor had brought the family earlier was calling his name. He went straight to the refrigerator to find it.

He heard footsteps.

Randall pulled his head out of the fridge. "Brianna, go back to-" He stopped.

No one was there.

He shrugged it off and returned to his search for grub.

A floorboard creaked behind him.

Randall peered over his shoulder.

Still no one.

Certain he'd heard something that time, he closed the refrigerator door and took a look around. "Kathleen?" he called his wife's name.

He got no answer.

Undeterred by the odd experience, Randall Singleton went back to the fridge again. He located the tasty casserole in seconds. He removed it and shut the door to the fridge.

Then he nearly dropped the dish.

One of his deceased mother-in-law's precious antique dolls was lying in the center of the kitchen floor. An auburn-haired doll dressed in a green satin gown. Her lifeless green eyes stared into his.

"What the heck?" Randall knew the thing hadn't been there when he'd entered the room. He set the casserole on the nearest counter and knelt to pick up the doll.

That's when he heard another strange noise. It, too, was coming from behind.

_Scritch._

It was a familiar sound, but he couldn't quite place it.

It sounded like sharp metal rubbing against something dull.

A knife.

It was the sound of a knife being removed from its wood block holder.

By the time Randall identified the noise, it was too late. His wife's brand new Rachael Ray euro-bladed knife had already been plunged into his chest by an invisible hand.


	23. 1x5, III: True Hollywood Story

_Singleton Residence,_

_Chauncey, Tennessee._

_The next afternoon._

Jennifer climbed out of the Impala's backseat and closed the door behind her. She took a few steps across the street toward the Singleton home then turned around to face the Winchesters, who remained inside the vehicle.

Sam rolled down his window. "What's wrong?"

She returned to the side of the car and planted her hands on her hips. "I don't know, I'm just, uh, just a little nervous about lying to the cops." Jennifer glanced at the black and white cars parked in the driveway. "Lying about _being _a cop."

"You'll do fine," Sam assured her. "Just do what we practiced."

"But when we practiced, _you two_ were there."

"Well, we've gotta get a look at that crime scene, and me and Sam aren't going in there." Dean leaned over his brother to talk. "We shouldn't even be this close to police. Not after the Milwaukee bank incident."

Jennifer wasn't any more excited about going in.

"Hey, you're the one who wanted to come here," Dean curtly reminded her. "This case was your idea."

She knew it was true. She anxiously gnawed on her bottom lip.

Dean continued to glare at her. "Now, do you wanna work the damn job or not?"

She began to give in. "You're sure the ID will work?" she asked for the second time, referring to the phony badge the brothers had created for her.

"Positive," Sam replied. "But they probably won't even look at it."

Jennifer looked at the house and sighed.

"You're a good liar, Jennifer," Dean said to her. "You've got nothing to worry about."

Encouraged by the unusual compliment, she took a deep breath. "Okay. I'll call you when I'm done." She smoothed the skirt of her black business suit and approached the Singleton residence.

Sam rolled up his window. "Maybe she won't get into too much trouble."

"Nah." Dean cranked up the vehicle as he watched Jennifer shake hands with a couple of uniformed officers gathered on the Singletons' front porch. He shifted the gear stick into drive. "She'll be fine."

Sam looked at his older brother. "Oh, _really_?"

"Mm-hmm."

"You sure do sound confident about that, Dean."

"So?"

Sam grinned stupidly.

Dean noticed. "What?"

"You like her, don't you?"

"What?"

Sam kept grinning. "You do."

"No, Sam." He rolled his eyes. "No."

"It's okay, man. You can drop the act around me."

"Sam, I don't even know her."

"Like _that's_ ever stopped you before."

"Sam."

"Admit it, Dean. She's kinda starting to grow on you."

Dean thought about it for a minute, then reached a verdict. "No. Not really."

"Whatever."

"Yeah. Whatever."

"Really, Dean. I'm just saying…"

"Sam, you need to stop trying to pimp me out to Jennifer and start focusing on your own non-existent love life."

"Ouch."

Dean half-grinned. "Burns, don't it?"

"Shut up," Sam told him with an eye roll.

* * *

Jennifer followed a balding policeman named Gervich through the crowded house and into the kitchen, where only hours ago, officials had moved the body of Randall Singleton. A few crime scene investigators were gathered around the pool of crimson, making notes and snapping photos.

"Mrs. Singleton, bless her heart, she found him," Officer Gervich sadly informed Jennifer. "Poor thing found her mother, too."

She shook her head, sympathizing for the woman. "That's awful." Her eyes darted around the crime scene as she tried to take in every detail. "Do you think there's any connection between the two deaths?"

Officer Gervich sighed. "Some folks are tryin' to pin this on Mrs. Singleton. Obviously, she had easy access to both crime scenes. No signs of a break-in plus her finding the bodies makes her seem suspicious." He looked into her eyes. "But I _know_ Kathleen. She's friends with my daughter. I watched her grow up. Kathy couldn't have done this."

Jennifer listened intently as he continued.

"Some people, they snap. They lose it, and they do rash things. I get that. But people like that usually have some kind of previous indicator. A reason for breaking," he told her. "Kathleen didn't. She was happy. Everybody around here knows that."

Jennifer took a step closer to the blood puddle and noticed one of Geraldine Cook's antique porcelain dolls lying next to it. Not only did the doll seem a bit out of place, but it also seemed creepier than ever with the bloodstains that now soiled its green satin skirt and its tiny ceramic hands.

She gulped. Seriously, the toy looked like something out of a low-budget horror flick.

Jennifer turned away and faced the refrigerator. An apple-shaped magnet held a snapshot of Randall, Kathleen, and their daughter on the fridge door. "The girl, Brianna, how's she taking all of this?"

Officer Gervich stared at the same photograph. "Not well. Poor little thing keeps saying that somebody named Ivy did it. I spoke with her last night, and that's what she told me." He bit his lip. "Turns out Ivy is her imaginary friend."

She remembered the girl mentioning her during their visit the day before. "Ivy, you said?"

"Yes. Dr. Franklin, our child psychologist, says it's Brianna's way of dealing with such a tremendous loss."

Jennifer just nodded.

* * *

Later that night, after the Winchesters and Jennifer had reunited, they returned to their room at the Rose Garden Motel to discuss their findings. Jennifer sat on one of the beds, listening as the brothers updated her from their seats at the table.

"Okay, so, while you were at the Singletons' place," Sam said to Jennifer, "we were doing some research of our own." He reached inside his laptop case and removed several large black and white photographs. He smiled. "More _illegal_ research."

Jennifer hesitantly returned the smile.

"Since we couldn't see Geraldine Cook's apartment for ourselves, I pulled a few strings and got the official crime scene photos." Sam handed the pictures to her and warned, "They're pretty gruesome."

Sam was right. The photos were pretty disturbing, but she flipped through them without flinching. Until she reached one in particular. "Holy crap."

"What?" Dean asked.

"Look at this." Jennifer leaned toward them, held up one of the photos, and pointed at the antique doll lying next to Geraldine's corpse. "See that doll?"

The brothers nodded.

"That _same _doll was lying next to Randall Singleton's body."

Dean took the photograph from her hands to get a closer look. "Seriously?"

"Yes, I swear! It was right next to where he was found," she told him. "There was blood on the doll's dress, its hands. It was really creepy."

Sam reached for the picture. "That can't be a coincidence."

"So, what, we're dealing with a real-life Chucky here?" Dean asked, cringing as the words came out of his mouth. "A killer doll?"

Sam and Jennifer thought about the ridiculousness of the idea for a moment.

"A real-life Chucky," Jennifer repeated. She shivered a little.

"Let's see." Dean relaxed in his seat and recalled the plot of _Child's Play_. "In the movie, it was a serial killer, uh, Charles Lee Ray. His soul was transferred to a…what were they called?"

Sam shrugged.

"It was a Good Guy doll," Jennifer remembered.

Dean snapped his fingers. "Yeah! Charles Lee Ray was about to die, so he used some kinda voodoo ritual to transfer his spirit to the doll."

Jennifer stared at Dean, wide-eyed. "Could that…really happen?"

"Anything's possible, I guess," Dean said.

Sam nodded.

She swallowed hard. "So, what do we do now?"

"Well, for starters," Dean began, "we need to figure out where that creepy ass doll came from."

* * *

Dean got in touch with Kathleen Singleton not long after their conversation.

Kathleen said she remembered her mother buying the doll only days before the body was discovered. She'd gone shopping with Geraldine at Then and Now Antique Gallery, a locally-owned shop located in historic downtown Chauncey.

Sam found the antique store's number on Yahoo! Yellow Pages, but unfortunately, the place had already closed by the time he called them. Their search for answers would have to be continued the next morning at ten when the shop reopened.

After having dinner at the restaurant down the street from the motel, Dean, Sam, and Jennifer went back to their room.

Presently, Dean was sprawled out across one of the beds, lying on his back, staring at the mildewed ceiling. Sam had slipped out of the room for a while. Jennifer was taking a shower. He was enjoying having the place to himself for the moment.

He heard the water cut off. Jennifer was done with her shower. Finally. She'd been in there long enough.

It was strange sharing the road with a girl. _Sharing a room _with one. Of course, both he and Sam had had their share of one-night-stands over the years, but this was different. Way different.

Dean was alone, in a motel room, with a girl in his shower. But each time his thoughts began to wander into the gutter, he reeled them back in. Because the girl in his shower was Jennifer Bane. And for the first time ever, Dean Winchester felt a little guilty for even thinking about someone like her in the shower.

_Someone like her_. Dean thought about it for a second. _What does that even mean?_

"Dean?"

The sound of Jennifer's muffled voice coming through the closed bathroom door startled him. He sat up and hollered back. "Yeah?"

"Where's Sam?"

"He, uh, he went to get some ice from the machine."

"Oh."

No one said anything else for a few seconds.

"So, it's just us?" Jennifer asked.

_Just us? _So much for trying to control his thoughts. "Yep. Just us." He could hear the smile in his own voice. "Are you coming onto me?"

More silence.

"….No. Are you coming onto _me_?" Jennifer inquired. The door was still closed. "Is _that _why you insisted we share such close quarters?"

His grin widened. "Don't get me wrong, Jennifer. You're…reasonably attractive. But I don't think _that _is a good idea."

The bathroom door screeched open.

Dean straightened his posture and watched the doorway to the restroom, anticipating her entrance. He wasn't sure what he was waiting for, but he felt a little deflated when she exited the bathroom wearing a baggy Hamilton State University t-shirt and Superman pajama pants.

"Nice PJs," he told her sardonically.

She frowned. "What were you expecting? A silky little nightie or something?"

Apparently, yes. He felt rather obvious and kind of embarrassed about that, but he played it cool. "A man can dream."

She rolled her eyes.

"Hey, I _did _let you come with us after all. Don't you owe me some kinda favor?" he joked, hoping he wasn't pushing it.

"You're disgusting."

"Yep." He grinned. "And you like it."

"No, actually, I'm beginning to wonder why the heck I wanted to come with you."

"Then my evil plan is working."

Jennifer sat down on the bed. "Oh, so you're trying to make me leave?"

Not sure where he was going with this, Dean shrugged.

"Well, I'm not leaving," she told him firmly.

She was persistent, that was for sure.

Dean studied her in the dim light. The soft glow of the lamp warmed her pale skin. He watched as excess water dripped from her towel-dried brown ringlets, dampening her shirt.

She glanced up at him and caught him staring.

He quickly refocused his attention on the vase of artificial pink roses standing on the nightstand.

Awkward silence filled the room.

Feeling a little uncomfortable, Jennifer repositioned herself at the foot of the mattress. "So."

"Yeah." Dean was glad she'd ended the quiet. "So." He pushed himself against the headboard. "Is the job as glamorous as you thought it would be?"

"I never said it'd be glamorous."

"No, but something about it must have seemed appealing." A grin crept across his features. "Well, you know, something besides _me_."

Jennifer rolled her eyes for a second time.

"I get what you told us in Biloxi," he continued, trading in his playfulness for his serious side. "You can't live a 'normal' life. You've got those freaky psychic dreams of yours. Those premonitions. You're different." He tried to choose his words carefully. "But Jennifer, after meeting your mom…I just…I don't know. I can't tell you enough how stupid it is for you to purposefully set out to do this. To leave her, the rest of your family, your friends. To give all those things up to hunt."

She kept her eyes on the rose-printed bedspread.

"Nobody chooses this life." He swallowed hard. "Why are you doing this?"

She didn't respond.

Cautiously, he asked, "Is there something you're not telling me?"

"No, it's nothing like that," she sighed. "I don't have some tragic reason for pursuing hunting, like wanting revenge because a close relative was killed by a demon or something, if that's what you mean."

"That's good."

"It's just…it's hard to explain. I know you're probably right. I have good reasons for wanting to do this. The ones you just mentioned." She paused. "But I think part of this is just an excuse to runaway."

"Is your family that bad?"

"No. They're not. I just never really fit in with them, I guess…" she trailed off. "Ugh, it sounds so lame, I know."

Jennifer seemed like she had more to say, so Dean waited quietly for her to go on.

"My dad works in administration at the hospital. My mom's a nurse. Naturally, they both expected me to go into healthcare too. They both wanted me to be a nurse," she told him. "Growing up, I never really knew what I wanted to do, but I always knew I didn't want do _that_. Being a nurse is the last thing I wanna do." She pulled her knees to her chin and hugged her legs. "I decided to major in journalism because I always liked the idea of investigating and finding the truth, but I didn't really wanna write. And I picked drama for my minor because it was fun."

"And 'cause you like to lie."

She half-smiled. "I, uh, I've always done well in school. I've gotten mostly A's and B's. But I really hated Hamilton State. I didn't get scholarships, and I had to pay for my classes out of my pocket…it just wasn't for me. I only went because my parents wanted me to. I guess I was compensating for the fact that I didn't go into nursing."

He nodded.

"Anyway, Jessica, my little sister, she's three years younger than me, she came behind me and showed me up. Big time. She did everything that my parents wanted me to do. She was valedictorian of her high school class. She got a full-ride to Langston College, a private school in Virginia, where she is currently working on her bachelor's degree in registered nursing."

"Sounds like a suck up."

Jennifer didn't disagree. "Everything worked out just perfect for her, and my parents _keep on_ rubbing it in my face. You heard my mom the other day."

"Yeah."

"My whole stinking family is disappointed in me for doing what I wanted to do. Even though now, I can see journalism really wasn't what I wanted to do in the first place." She exhaled loudly. "I'm just sick of not living up to their standards. They can't face the fact that I'm never going to be who they want me to be."

"You sound like my brother," Dean told her. "Sam didn't wanna hunt, but that's what Dad trained him to do. They got in fights about it all the time. And then one time, they had a big blowout. Sam left, ready to do his own thing. He went to college. Stanford. Law school, actually."

Jennifer was visibly surprised.

"But you see how that turned out," he said with a sigh. "Some people are just meant to do certain things, no matter how much they don't wanna do them."

She said nothing.

"I just don't want to see you give up everything that matters all because of a disagreement or two," Dean summed it up for her. "That's all."

"Well, I appreciate your concern. I really do. I'm still thinking about everything, trying to decide what I'm supposed to do." Jennifer gave him a soft smile. "I'm really glad you let me come along. Being here, seeing what it's really like is the best way to make up my mind."

"Exactly."

Jennifer's face suddenly grew pink. "Wow, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to give you my life story."

"No, no. I'd totally watch your episode of _E! True Hollywood Story_," he assured her, grinning.

She grinned back. "What about your _True Hollywood Story_? Tell me more about _Dean_."

Dean didn't have a clue what to say at first, but she eventually pulled a great deal of Winchester history out of him. The two of them ended up talking for a long time. A little over an hour, actually. He told her about his mother, about the nursery fire, about Sam's girlfriend, the connection with Yellow Eyes. He talked about his dad and his childhood. Growing up as a hunter.

At some point during the conversation, Jennifer joined him at the other end of the bed. She sat beside him, leaning against the white wicker headboard, listening to his fascinating tales.

Dean was in the middle of a story about a vampire hunt gone wrong when the motel room door opened.

Sam stood in the doorway with the motel's cheapo ice bucket in one hand and a can of Sprite in the other. He was shocked by the sight of Dean and Jennifer cozied up together on one of the beds, swapping stories in the lamplight. It seemed like an intimate moment, and he didn't know how to react to it. "Hey, uh…" He cleared his throat. "Should I…leave?"

"No," Dean told him. "We were just talking."

Sam closed the door and his gaping mouth.

Dean realized how close he and Jennifer had been sitting and scooted away. "What the crap, man? You were gone forever. I thought you were just going to get some ice."

"Yeah." Sam cleared his throat. "Yeah, I was. But the, uh, the ice machine is a piece of crap." His left nostril twitched. "Plus, I stopped to get something to drink. And the, uh, Coke machine is a piece of crap, too. I ended up walking to the service station next door."

Dean stared.

"I was thirsty," Sam said, smiling awkwardly as he held up the canned beverage for them to see.

His younger brother's twitchy face told Dean that Sam was being less than honest. "Uh-huh."

Sam set the ice bucket on the table and plopped himself onto the empty bed. "It's kinda late. You two decide on sleeping arrangements yet?"

Dean winked at Jennifer, who was still sitting next to him. "I'm happy with this arrangement."

Jennifer rolled her eyes again. The reaction was becoming habit around Dean. "Get up."

He did.


	24. 1x5, IV: Blue Suede Shoes

_Then & Now Antique Gallery._

_The next morning._

Then and Now Antique Gallery was owned by a cheerful, white-haired, African-American lady named Bernice Hutcheson. She was more than happy to give Sam, Dean, and Jennifer information about the allegedly evil doll Geraldine Cook had purchased in her store just two weeks ago.

"Yes, I remember that sale quite well," Bernice said, staring down at Jennifer. Even with her humpback, Bernice Hutcheson was oddly tall for a woman her age. She bypassed Jennifer in height by at least six inches, placing her not much shorter than Dean. "Ms. Cook's been buying dolls from me for years. That particular doll, I'd just gotten her in the week before. The thing had been in storage for I don't know how long."

"What can you tell us about the doll's history?" Sam asked the woman.

Bernice propped herself against the glass counter behind her. "Well, I can tell you it's a genuine antique. Of course, everything in my store is, but that doll in particular was over one hundred and twenty years old. It originally belonged to the Lattimore family."

"Do they live around here?" Dean asked.

"Oh, no, son. They're all dead," Bernice said. "They were from Memphis. A wealthy bunch of folks, too, I might add. That porcelain doll you're talking about? It was handcrafted, made especially for Mr. Lattimore's only daughter." Bernice scratched her chin as she drifted into her thoughts. "I believe the child's name was Ivy."

Jennifer's blue eyes grew wide. "Did you say _Ivy_?"

Bernice Hutcheson nodded.

Sam and Dean looked at each other, then at Jennifer.

She gulped. "Ma'am, what else do you know about Ivy Lattimore?"

"Let's see," Bernice started. "Like I said, they were a rich family. Ivy's father was a successful businessman." She folded her thick arms across her chest. "Mr. Lattimore died when Ivy was about eight. He was killed in some sort of accident, and the tragedy of his death sent his wife, Ivy's mother, into madness. From what I hear, she got depressed, started drinking all the time. She became an alcoholic and lost the family business. Spent all the family's money on liquor." Bernice shook her head. "They say she'd have these awful drunken fits where she'd beat Ivy. She'd knock the girl around for no reason and never even know what she'd done."

Jennifer grimaced at the sad story.

"Then one day, somebody found Ivy's body in the hall closet," Bernice said. Her voice was softer now. Intentionally hushed. "Some think Mrs. Lattimore killed the girl in one of those fits of hers, that she just locked Ivy up in the closet and left her there." Bernice's tone grew even more somber. "And that doll you're asking about? When they found that poor little girl, she was holding that doll in her arms."

Jennifer and the Winchesters exchanged glances.

"Do you have any idea where Ivy is buried?" Sam asked.

Bernice seemed a little surprised by the inquiry, but she didn't question it. "I'm not sure, but she's probably in Ashton Cemetery in Memphis. I think that's where they buried Mr. Lattimore."

"Thank you so much for your help, ma'am," Dean said.

Bernice smiled pleasantly. "You're welcome."

In the parking lot of the antique gallery, Jennifer filled in the blanks as the three of them headed to the Impala. "Yesterday, when I spoke with that cop at the Singletons' house, he told me that Brianna has been telling everyone that someone named Ivy killed her dad and her grandmother. Remember when we first spoke to Randall and Kathleen?"

"Yeah, Brianna was talking about her imaginary friend," Sam said.

Jennifer nodded. "An imaginary friend named Ivy."

"Of course. The girl's imaginary friend is actually a ghost," Dean groaned, unlocking his '67 Chevy. "That was so cliché I didn't even think it was an option here."

Jennifer pulled open a back door. "According to the child psychologist who talked to Brianna, blaming an imaginary friend for the deaths is the kid's way of dealing with loss, but that's obviously a load of crap."

Dean nodded, opening the car door for himself. "Damn imaginary friends. They're never imaginary."

Everyone climbed inside the car.

"So. It's the pissed off spirit of Ivy Lattimore that's doing the killing, not the actual _doll_," Sam summarized.

"Yep." Dean inserted the key into the ignition and turned it. The vehicle came alive with a growl.

"Thank goodness." Jennifer buckled her seatbelt. "Now I can sleep at night."

The brothers considered her statement for a second.

Dean couldn't help but grin. "Right. _That's_ a normal response," he said sarcastically.

Jennifer realized what she had said and laughed softly. "Yeah, that was kind of dumb."

After a moment, Sam asked, "Okay, so I take it we're headed to Memphis?"

Dean backed the Impala out of its parking spot. "You're sharp as a tack, Sammy."

* * *

_Ashton Cemetery,_

_Memphis, Tennessee._

A little more than six hours later, after Sam had made a few phone calls to verify the burial place of Ivy Lattimore, the three of them arrived in Memphis. By the time they reached Ashton Cemetery, night had shrouded the city in darkness. That was good. The dark was an essential cover for desecrating grave sites. But it also made the place a heck of a lot creepier.

Jennifer shivered as she and the Winchesters weaved through the maze of stone monuments, shovels and rock salt in hand. The stillness of the area, the unseasonably cool night air, the looming shadows…they all multiplied the eeriness of the graveyard. The farther into the cemetery they went, the more Jennifer thought the loud chirping of crickets sounded like the shrieking violin music from the shower scene in _Psycho_.

Dean, who was leading the way, suddenly stopped. "Right here," he announced. He dropped his shovel and container of gasoline onto the ground in front of an extravagant tombstone. The name _Lattimore _was proudly engraved into the marker. Although the plot held both Ivy and her parents, the thing had clearly been erected prior to the family's financial downfall.

Sam and Jennifer joined Dean's side.

"Hello, Ivy," Dean said, rolling up his shirt sleeves. He turned to Jennifer. "Now comes the fun part."

Jennifer stared at the child's grave and frowned. "This is gonna take forever, isn't it?"

"'Fraid so," Sam replied.

"Unless you've got some special digging skills up your sleeve, too," Dean said.

She sighed. "Sorry to disappoint."

"Well." Dean grabbed up his shovel. "Let's get crack-a-lackin'."

Sam thrust the blade of his shovel into the ground for what seemed like the thousandth time and finally hit something.

"Got it," he alerted the others. Using all the strength he could muster, Sam plunged the shovel into the coffin repeatedly until the lid collapsed. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and glanced up at Jennifer and Dean, who were waiting above ground with salt and gasoline. "Okay." He climbed out of the hole and sat down on the closest headstone to rest.

Jennifer emptied a bag of salt onto Ivy Lattimore's withered remains as Dean doused them with the flammable liquid.

"Congratulations," Dean said to her when they finished covering the bones. He struck up a match and dropped it into the grave. Flames immediately shot up in response. "You just witnessed your first salt and burn." Dean pocketed the matchbook. "Still not ready to run for the hills?"

She heaved a sigh, exhausted from the dig. "No, I'm just ready for a shower."

"Me too," Sam agreed with a smile. "And maybe a nap."

Dean nodded. "I say we get a room at the Heartbreak Hotel and call it a night."

"The Heartbreak Hotel?" Jennifer repeated. "Really?"

"Yeah. It's a real place, no joke. Maybe we can get the Burning Love Suite. I hear they have a heart-shaped Jacuzzi and free in-house Elvis movies," Dean went on.

"No thanks," Sam frowned. "I'm not really in the mood for _Blue Hawaii_."

Jennifer cringed. "Nobody is."

Dean shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe not. But a place with 'burning love' in the title's gotta have some Magic Fingers." He grinned. "I'm sold."

* * *

_Chauncey, Tennessee._

The morning sunlight that filtered through the wooden mini-blinds hanging over the large picture window in the living room wasn't as bright as usual to Kathleen Singleton. Every day for the past two weeks had begun this way. Nothing seemed the same anymore. Not since the death of her mother. Not since the death of her husband.

It seemed that everything she did conjured up the same images: Her mother's body lying limp on the bathroom floor. Randall's corpse sprawled in front of the refrigerator. The unbelievably large pools of blood that surrounded each of them.

The images crept into her thoughts again and again. And again now.

Kathleen was physically weak and unable to eat, sickened by the repeated visions. She sat on her green and red checkered sofa, dressed in her bathrobe and pajamas, staring at the television. It was turned to some children's show, apparently the only program unmarred by violence and bloodshed. She watched the dancing puppets onscreen and felt a twinge of fear inside her. After the horror she'd experienced recently, even something as innocent as children's toys seemed sinister.

There was no such thing as a distraction. Nothing helped.

"Mommy," Brianna's small voice startled her. "I'm hungry."

Kathleen glanced away from the TV and sighed. "There's cereal in the pantry."

"No. I ate all the Apple Jacks yesterday."

"Well, I'm sure there's some Pop-Tarts or something."

"I looked for those too, and we don't have any."

Kathleen cradled her head in hands and closed her eyes. She didn't feel like talking to the kid right now. She didn't feel like finding breakfast for her. She didn't feel like doing anything.

"Mommy, I'm hungry," Brianna persisted.

"Go find something."

Brianna frowned. "But I just told you…I checked. We don't have-"

"Dammit, Brianna! It's just breakfast! It won't kill you to skip one freaking meal!" Kathleen spouted before she realized what she'd said.

Brianna gasped, terrified by her mother's outburst. Wide-eyed, she breathed, "You said a bad word."

A tears slipped down Kathleen's cheek. Another followed close behind it.

"Mom, don't cry," Brianna said. She gently placed her hand on her mother's knee. "It'll be okay."

"God, Brianna, just leave me alone!" Kathleen cried, slapping the child's hand away.

Brianna sniffled as her own tears made their way down her face. "What's wrong with you?"

Kathleen ignored her.

"You're acting like her," Brianna said cryptically.

"Who the hell are you talking about, Brianna?" Kathleen snapped. "Your stupid friend again? Shut up about her already!"

"But Mommy-"

Kathleen threw her hands into the air and screamed, "Brianna, please! Just shut up!"

With a heartbreakingly sad expression upon her pretty face, Brianna darted away from her mother and hid in her bedroom.

* * *

_Memphis, Tennessee._

Sitting in the corner of the Baker Family Restaurant, Jennifer and Sam watched in silence as Dean shoveled the last of his southwestern omelet into his mouth. "You two got a problem?" he asked them, gulping down some coffee.

"No," Sam replied. "But you're about to have one. Some serious heartburn."

Dean smacked his lips, enjoying the lingering spicy flavor. "I really don't care. That thing was awesome."

"Obviously," Sam retorted, staring at the empty plate in front of his brother. Dean had come dangerously close to licking the thing.

Dean wiped his mouth with a napkin as he looked at Jennifer. She was still staring at him, but she didn't really seem to be mesmerized by his boyish good looks. In fact, she didn't seem to be looking at _him _at all. She seemed in a daze, lost in her thoughts, and staring unconsciously. He waved a hand in front of her face.

She blinked.

"What's with you?" he asked.

"Sorry." She glanced away, a little embarrassed.

"It's okay," Dean assured her with a grin. "_Most_ women can't help but stare at this fine-looking mug."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"I didn't mean to stare. I was just thinking," she told them.

"About what?" Sam inquired.

"About my fine-looking mug?" Dean obnoxiously repeated.

Jennifer took a sip of orange juice and set the glass on the table with a loud clink. "I think we need to go back to Chauncey."

"Chauncey?" Sam raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"I don't know, I've just gotta feeling that something's wrong with Kathleen and Brianna Singleton."

"You mean one of _those _kinda feelings?" Dean asked.

"Yes."

"But that's a few hours away," Sam pointed out. "How strong is this feeling?"

"Pretty darn strong."

Dean heaved a sigh as he tossed his dirty napkin onto the table. "Guess that means no Graceland tour."

The Impala rocketed down Interstate 40, headed back to Chauncey solely because of Jennifer's presentiment.

"Kathleen still isn't answering her phone," Sam announced from the passenger's seat, clapping his phone shut. Whatever doubt he had in the validity of Jennifer's premonition was replaced by concern for Kathleen and Brianna Singleton.

"That can't be good," Dean said.

"What do you think may have happened to them?" Jennifer asked, afraid of the answer she might receive.

"You're the one with the psychic premonition," Dean said. "You tell us."

"It's gotta be something related to Ivy Lattimore," Jennifer stated the obvious. "But we salted and burned her bones. Shouldn't that have taken care of her?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "Unless we missed something."

"You know, the lady at the antique store said Ivy's body was found holding that doll," Dean recalled. "What if her spirit is somehow connected to it?"

Sam thought about the possibility for a moment. "Wait a second," he said. "The lady _also _said the doll was handcrafted, custom-made for Ivy."

Jennifer wondered why this bit of information was relevant. "So?"

"Back in the day, people made dolls in their owner's image. They were mini versions of the girls they belonged to," Dean informed her, following Sam's train of thought. "So much so, they actually used stuff like the owner's real hair to make the dolls."

Sam nodded. "Which means that the doll found at both crime scenes is more than likely made with Ivy Lattimore's real hair."

"Yep. Which means we missed some of Ivy's remains," Dean concluded. "Which explains why the salt and burn didn't work."

"Real hair," Jennifer repeated, disgusted by the thought. "That's kind of gross."

"Sure is," Sam agreed.

Jennifer bit her lip. "So, in the end, it really _was _the doll who killed Geraldine Cook and Randall Singleton."

"…Yes and no," Sam replied hesitantly. "Mostly no. Ivy's _spirit _was the killer, but her spirit is only still around because part of her remains are in the doll."

"Huh," Jennifer said. "Weird how all that works."

"Anyway, even if your premonition happens to be wrong and the Singletons are just fine," Dean said, keeping his eyes on the road, "we've still gotta find that friggin' doll and have ourselves a barbeque before anyone else gets hurt."

* * *

_Chauncey, Tennessee._

Brianna Singleton sat in her bedroom floor, hiding in the crevice between her bed and her dresser. As she crouched there, her body shook with fear as tears spilled from her eyes. Her mother had never talked to her like that before, and she didn't know how to handle it.

Ivy had told her about the way her _own_ mother acted. And strangely, Brianna's mother's behavior sounded similar.

This fact scared Brianna.

She knew how Ivy had responded when Brianna's grandmother and father had refused to believe in her. Ivy had tried to tell them her story, about the way her mother had beaten her and left her for dead. But instead of listening, they told themselves she wasn't real.

So, she killed them.

And now, as Kathleen denied Ivy's existence while simultaneously beginning to treat Brianna the way Mrs. Lattimore had treated Ivy, Brianna knew the outcome could be nothing but bad.

Brianna moved her eyes from the bloodstained porcelain doll lying on the carpet in front of her to the auburn-haired little girl, the one nobody else could see, who now stood before her, plainly visible. "Please don't hurt my mom," Brianna begged her not-so-imaginary friend.

"But she doesn't believe me," Ivy replied. Though no one else seemed to be able to hear her, Ivy's voice was loud and clear to Brianna. "You heard her."

"Yes, but you don't have to hurt her."

Ivy shook her head, frowning. "But I do."

* * *

A couple of hours later, Dean jerked the Impala to a stop in the Singletons' driveway. The three of them were comforted by the absence of ambulances and police cars in the yard as well as the lack of spine-tingling screams coming from within the house. But at the same time, they wondered if Jennifer's premonition had been inaccurate.

Dean shut off the engine and looked over his shoulder at her. "Are your premonitions ever wrong?"

"Not usually."

"So, that's a _yes_?"

"Well, they might have been a bit off a couple of times," she admitted. "But not this time. This feeling is way too strong to be wrong." She felt a pit growing in her stomach as she stared at the house. Though by all outward appearances the place was safe, something about the home made her insides quiver. "I don't know how to describe it. I just know something's not right."

Dean glanced at his brother, who offered nothing but a shrug. To Jennifer, Dean said, "Okay. We'll take your word for it."

Kathleen had not moved a muscle all day. She was _still _sitting on the sofa, still facing the television.

Behind her, on the opposite side of a living room wall, Brianna and her invisible red-haired friend stood, waiting. Ivy placed a hand on Brianna's shoulder. Her skin had the warmth and smoothness of a real person's hand. "I'm sorry," she said. "But it has to happen. If it doesn't, she'll hurt you. Just like Mother hurt me."

"Ivy, please don't," Brianna whispered.

The imaginary girl blurred as she darted into the living room and stopped behind Kathleen in a mere split second. The impossible movement had been her first display of inhuman abilities, and Brianna was stunned into silence.

With the same sped-up motion, Ivy grabbed the table lamp from an end table and raised it above her head, preparing to strike Brianna's mother from behind.

"Mommy!" Brianna shrieked.

Kathleen whipped around. She gasped. Unable to see the spirit of Ivy Lattimore, Kathleen saw only her bronze lamp floating in midair. "What the…" she couldn't finish. She was too amazed by the impossible spectacle.

Without warning, the lamp flew forward, brutally smacking Kathleen's right temple. The blow immediately knocked the woman unconscious.

The front door suddenly burst open. Brianna recognized the two gun-wielding men that invaded her home. She also remembered seeing the woman that followed behind them. The sight of guns aimed in Brianna's direction, however, caused the girl to scream.

"It's okay, we're here to help," Sam told her quickly.

Dean kept his finger on the trigger as he glanced around the room. He spotted Kathleen's body on the floor. The lamp lying next to her. He swallowed. "Brianna, where's your friend?"

Unable to provide an answer, the girl looked around the room. Her eyes enlarged as she shouted, "Ivy, stop!"

"Where is she?" Dean repeated.

Brianna pointed at Sam. "Behind him!"

They turned around. Indeed, a decorative vase was hovering behind Sam's back.

"Cover your ears," Dean instructed the kid, raising the pistol in Sam's direction. "Get down!"

Jennifer ran to Brianna's side in an attempt to shelter her, while Sam ducked out the way as Dean fired a couple of shots. The rock salt blasted into Ivy, temporarily disabling her. The vase fell to the floor with a loud crash.

"The doll," Jennifer said. Her eyes frantically searched the room for the porcelain monstrosity. She scanned the open boxes of Geraldine's antiques, but _the _doll was nowhere to be seen. "Where's Ivy's doll?"

Dean and Sam looked around as well.

Jennifer turned to the girl. "Brianna, where's her doll?"

Brianna stuttered, trying desperately to remember where she'd last seen the thing. "I, uh, I'm not sure…"

"Think," Jennifer encouraged her.

"Uh…" Brianna face twisted with panic once more. She pointed at Dean and yelled, "Ivy's behind you!"

Dean pivoted on his heel and jerked the trigger. After a couple of missed shots, he emptied more salt into the ghost to buy them some time.

"The doll!" Brianna shouted, now directing their attention to the antique doll next to Dean's feet.

It hadn't been there before.

Sam dove for it. As soon as the doll was within his grasp, he pulled a lighter from his left jacket pocket and clicked it on. No flame appeared. Of course. That _always _happened. Sam tried it again. Still no flame. "Come on," he begged it. The lighter obeyed. He held the fire to the doll's hair and in seconds, the auburn locks were engulfed in flames.

Dean held the gun steady, prepared for action.

Jennifer knelt in the floor next to Brianna, placing a protective arm around her. The girl had relaxed under her touch and had, at some point during the gunfire, wrapped both of her arms around Jennifer's waist.

Dean glanced their way. "Brianna, do you see Ivy?"

Brianna shook her head.

"You don't see her anywhere?" Jennifer inquired.

The little girl let go of Jennifer and sat up to look around. "No. I think she left."

Dean lowered his gun.

Relieved, the three adults shared glances. Then they focused their eyes on the burning doll and watched as the fire brought Ivy Lattimore to an end.


	25. 1x5, V: Motel or Hotel

With his hands stuffed in the pockets of his faded jeans, Sam descended the front porch steps of the Singletons' home. He joined Dean and Jennifer on the front lawn. "Kathleen has a mild concussion, but she'll be fine," Sam updated them.

Dean nodded. "Good."

"She lost her husband and her mother to something she can't explain," Jennifer said with a sigh. "I doubt she'll ever really be fine."

"Well, at least they've still got each other," Dean said. He stepped aside as a couple more paramedics passed by, making their way inside the house. "Kathleen's got her daughter. The kid's still got her mom." He glanced at Jennifer. "That's something she could never replace."

She looked away, knowing what he was getting at. Again. She took a step toward the Impala, and the brothers followed her.

"And like I said before," Sam said to Jennifer. "If we hadn't broken a few rules, that'd be a different story."

"Yeah," she said, walking by the ambulance. "The entire family could have died, plus who knows who else after that."

"Exactly."

They reached the 1967 Chevrolet and stopped.

Jennifer folded her arms across her chest and turned to the Winchesters. "So. What now?"

"I don't know," Dean replied. He reached into a pocket and extracted his car keys. "Back to Antioch, I guess."

She was clearly disappointed. "You're taking me home?"

Dean shrugged. "Unless you've got some other psychic hunch we should follow."

"I've got a strong psychic hunch you should let me go with you on your next case," she said, giving him an obnoxious smile. "After all, you did say I could come on _a few _hunts, not _a _hunt."

Sam scratched his forehead. "Yeah, Dean, we _did _say that."

"Actually, Sam, _you _said that," Dean recalled as he unlocked the driver's side door. "I know I never said that."

"It doesn't really matter who said it," she told them. "What matters is where we're going now."

Dean opened his door and glanced at her. "Any ideas?"

"I've always wanted to visit California."

He ignored her and turned to his brother. "What about you?"

"Not really." Sam strolled around to the right side of the vehicle. He opened the front door and climbed inside. "We could call the Roadhouse. Or Bobby. See if either of them know of a job."

Dean was fine with that. He cranked up the Impala. "I guess in the meantime, we can get our room back at the delightful Rose Garden Hotel."

"_Motel_, Dean," Sam corrected him. "The room opens to the outside. That makes it a _motel_."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Quit being such a know-it-all."

Sam sighed. "Dean, I've told you a thousand times. Everybody knows the difference between a motel and a hotel."

"Dude, don't push it. I'll drop _you_ off in Antioch," Dean warned. "Maybe even let you stay with Jennifer's friends. What's their names? Those two annoying douchebags from your church?"

"Jay and Brian," Jennifer answered without having to think about it.

Dean found that amusing. "Yeah. You used to date the one who wears all the Irish t-shirts."

"That's Jay."

"Ugh," he grimaced. "Spend five minutes with those guys, Sam, and you'll appreciate me."

"More like five seconds," Jennifer commented.

Dean grinned at her. "Thanks."

"Actually, that's not saying much," she said.

That earned a laugh from Sam.

"Oh, just shut up, both of you." Dean frowned and focused his eyes on the road ahead.


	26. 1x6, I: Prediction of Doom

A/N: Hello! Thanks sooo much for the reviews you've all been posting. _Please _keep them coming! The more reviews I get, the more likely I am to finish this story. :) So, here's the beginning of a new "episode." I'm rather anxious to see what you guys think about it, because it's a little bit different from the others. Thanks for reading! (And reviewing, hint hint...) Haha.

* * *

**"Fortune Teller"**

**

* * *

  
**

_Jackson County Fair,_

_Wilbanks, Indiana._

_Six weeks later._

The tantalizing aromas of nachos, pizza, and corndogs met the noses of P.J. Estes and Courtney Akridge as they pushed their way through the multitude of fair-goers. The dazzling lights of the attractions lit up the black sky. The latest hit by Rihanna roared from the speakers, but the sounds of the crowd, the bleeps and blips of the various rides and amusements, and the screams coming from the scrambler and bungee jump drowned it out.

"What do you wanna do next?" P.J. hollered over the noise.

Courtney shrugged and studied her surroundings. She suddenly smiled. "Come on." Courtney grabbed P.J.'s hand and tugged him along as they headed past the balloon darts.

P.J. rolled his eyes when he realized where his girlfriend was leading him- a tall wooden booth enclosing a mechanical fortune-telling mannequin named Madame Zendala. The plastic woman was an exotic beauty with cat-like yellow eyes and full scarlet lips. She wore a modest silk dress and a matching headpiece that covered her hair, neck, and shoulders. And of course, just like all fortune tellers, her hands extended in front of her and curled around a crystal ball.

"Give me a quarter, and I will tell you what fate has in store for you," the machine said in a sultry pre-recorded female voice.

Courtney smiled as she stared through the glass at Madame Zendala. "Put a quarter in, P.J."

P.J. dug around in his pockets until he found the required change. The moment he slipped the silvery coin into the slot, Madame Zendala's crystal ball lit up with a bright golden glow.

"You who wish your fortune revealed, please step forward." The mannequin's mouth opened and closed unnaturally as she 'talked.' Courtney stepped closer as P.J. took a step back. "Listen carefully, my friend. Madame Zendala will share with you the secrets of the unknown." The crystal ball flashed green, then violet, and finally a deep shade of crimson.

The machine spat out a small white card. Courtney grabbed it up and read it: _"You must use great caution. Take heed, for grave danger awaits you. Each journey must come to an end, and yours, my friend, will end soon."_

The crystal ball blinked off.

Courtney turned to P.J., wide-eyed. "What the crap?"

P.J. just laughed as the 'insert coin' button lit up.

The robotic woman continued in her thick Eastern accent, "For a small fee, Madame Zendala will share with you more secrets."

"That's my fortune?" Courtney asked.

"Yep." P.J. grinned. "Looks like you're doomed."

"P.J., this is scary," Courtney cried.

"It's just a stupid machine. It probably gives everybody the same card." P.J. slung an arm around his petite date. "You want some cotton candy? I could really go for some cotton candy."

* * *

_Later that night._

Tired from a day of fun, Courtney stood inside the only bathroom in the one bedroom apartment she shared with P.J. She slipped out of her clothing, heaped the garments on the tiled floor, and climbed into the bathtub.

The hot water immediately soothed her. She leaned back to rest her head on the edge of the tub and closed her eyes. Relaxed. Listened to the water gushing from the faucet.

Less than a foot away, a Conair hairdryer balanced upon the edge of the vanity cabinet. The cord was plugged into the nearest electrical outlet, ready for use.

Water continued to stream from the faucet.

Courtney realized the tub was full, but she was too comfortable to sit up and cut off the water. Without bothering to open her eyes, she stretched out her right leg and attempted to grip the knob with her toes.

Her sense of direction was off.

Her pinky toe snagged the cord of the blow-dryer and yanked the device from the cabinet. It pounded into the side of the bathtub. The collision thrust the power switch on just before the hairdryer splashed into the water.

_Zzzzzzzzzzt. Zzzzzzzzzzt._


	27. 1x6, II: Three's A Crowd

_Paradise Motel,_

_Wilbanks, Indiana._

Dean Winchester collapsed into the driver's seat of the Impala and slammed the door shut. The carelessness of his movements, the scowl on his face, and the aggravated sigh he released immediately informed both Sam and Jennifer, who were waiting in the car for him to return from the motel office, that Dean was pissed.

Dean jammed the key into the ignition. Jerked it forward. "That's the _last _time we're all sharing a room," he huffed. From a pocket of his brown leather jacket, he yanked the key to the motel room he'd just obtained. He threw it at Sam.

Sam barely caught the key before it slid beneath his seat. "What happened in there?"

Dean sighed. "Stupid perv working the check-in desk saw all three of us in the car when we pulled up." He thrust the gearshift into reverse and pressed the accelerator. "When I told him we needed one room, he asked if we wanted two queens or _one king_."

Sam wrinkled his nose. "Again?"

"_Then _he proceeded to tell me, while giving me a damn _wink_, that every room has vibrating beds and twenty-four hour adult films on pay-per-view." He clenched his jaw as he shifted into drive. "And that their showers have room enough for two. _Or _three."

"Gross," Sam said, grimacing.

"Tell me about it," Dean said. "Why do people always assume crap like that? That makes like the third time this month. I'm sick of it. The whole damn world needs to get its mind out of the gutter."

"That's disgusting," Jennifer chimed in from the backseat. "But you know, there really isn't a point in sharing a room anyway. You don't have to watch out for me 24/7."

"Actually, Jennifer, the whole sharing a room thing is more about saving a few bucks than keeping an eye on you," Dean told her. "It's way cheaper to get one room."

"Right. Like _you're _paying for it."

"Well, it's cheaper for Lars Matejka."

"_Lars Matejka? _You seriously put that name on a credit card application?" Sam asked his older brother.

Dean chuckled.

Jennifer shook her head with a sigh. "So illegal."

Dean pulled the Impala into the parking space in front of room one-twenty. "Hunting ain't exactly a pro-ball career." He parked and shut off the engine. "You gotta do what you gotta do to get by."

The three of them piled out of the classic automobile and approached the door to their room. Sam unlocked it. He twisted the doorknob and pushed it open, chivalrously motioning for Jennifer to go ahead of him. She stepped inside and flicked on the light switch.

Upon a first glance, they could almost hear the famous funky guitar intro to Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get It On."

Despite the fact that there were _two_ beds in the room, it looked like the sleaziest of all sleazy honeymoon suites. Plush white carpet. Two round beds with red silky coverlets and heart-shaped pillows. Mirrors on the walls. Mirrors on the ceiling. A red-tinted spotlight mounted above each bed…

The wah-wah-wah-wah intro to "Let's Get It On" continued to play in their heads.

"Uh, Dean? Did you pay for a couple of nights or a couple of _hours_?" Sam asked.

Jennifer swallowed. "I'm not sure I feel comfortable sharing a room like this with you two."

Dean grinned at her mischievously. "Would you prefer to share it with just _one _of us?"

She rolled her eyes. "You know, you should have known better than to stop at a place called the Paradise Motel." She set her bags onto one of the beds. "I don't know why the two of you always wanna stay in such dumps. It's not like there aren't any other options. We passed two Holiday Inns and a Motel 6 before we found this place."

"Well, nobody's making you stay here," Dean snapped. "If you hate it so much, you can hightail it right back to the Motel 6. You'd be doing us a favor. I, personally, am tired of sharing a bed with his ice-cube toes."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"Seriously, dude, get some socks," Dean said to him.

"Okay, sure. As soon as you stop stealing covers," Sam retorted. "You have no idea how annoying it is to wake up in the middle of the night without a blanket because your idiot brother hogs it."

"I 'hog' it because your feet are so damn cold!"

"Geez," Jennifer interrupted. "If I'm causing you that much trouble, I really will get my own room."

"No, Jennifer, it's okay," Sam assured her.

"Is it?" Dean asked. "She's not the one who's gonna get stuck sharing a round vibrating bed with _you_."

"Okay, that's it," she sighed. "This is ridiculous. Everybody's in a bad mood. We've been cooped up together for too long." She lifted her bags from the bed and slung them over her shoulder. "I'm gonna see if I can get the room next door."

Dean exhaled loudly. "Okay."

"Okay." Jennifer headed toward the door. "I'll be ready to visit the dead girl's boyfriend first thing in the morning. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Dean replied curtly.

"Knock if you need us," Sam said.

She nodded as she opened the door. She stepped outside and closed it behind her.

* * *

_The next morning._

P.J. Estes stared at the three strangers seated on his sofa. "So, how did you know Courtney, exactly?" he asked them.

Dean and Sam glanced at each other, then at Jennifer.

"I was Courtney's math tutor her freshman year of college," she lied.

"Oh." P.J.'s forehead creased. "I never knew she needed a tutor. She was always great at math."

This unexpected bit of information didn't seem to faze Jennifer. "Great at math, huh? I guess that's what good tutoring will do for you. That personalized, one-on-one guidance, you know? Nothing like it. Not that I'm claiming to be some wonderful math tutor or anything…" she trailed off.

Dean stared at her from the corner of his eye, wondering why she was still talking. "…Anyway. Yeah. Jennifer here is a math tutor. The three of us and your girlfriend were in a study group together."

"Yep," Jennifer said with a nod. "Math 100. We were a close group."

"I'm surprised she never mentioned you guys," P.J. told them.

"Me too," Dean said. "Kinda hurts my feelings."

Sam decided to join in. "P.J., when we heard about what happened to her, we just had to stop by and tell you how sorry we are for your loss."

"Thanks," P.J. sighed.

"You found Courtney, didn't you?" Dean asked.

P.J. nodded.

"What do they think happened to her?" Jennifer inquired.

"Uh, you know." P.J. shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "It was just one of those freak accidents."

_Freak accident_. That exact description had made the headlines of the local newspaper. Those two words had lured Jennifer and the Winchesters to Wilbanks, Indiana, in the first place. _Freak accident_. In their experience, there was no such thing.

Dean let his eyes wander around the small apartment living room. It was _very_ small, with barely enough room to accommodate the couch and recliner. The white walls were bare except for an extremely random Jay-Z poster mounted above the television set. Dean's nose crinkled at the sight.

"How long you been living here, P.J.?" he asked the guy.

"Not too long," P.J. replied. "We signed the lease about…eight months ago."

"In all that time, have you ever noticed anything strange about the apartment?" Dean continued. "Weird noises? Electrical shortages? Stuff like that?"

P.J. thought for a moment. "We've heard some weird noises before. But the walls here are, like, paper thin, so I'm pretty sure it was just the neighbors. They get pretty loud sometimes."

"Right." Dean said. "Just the neighbors."

P.J. began to nervously fidget with a rip in his faded Levis. "Why? Do you think something else happened to Courtney?"

"No," Jennifer replied. She noticed his nervousness. "Unless you think so."

Sam leaned forward. "Do you?"

The recliner holding P.J. Estes squeaked as he repositioned himself once more.

"Either you've got some serious hemorrhoids or that's a yes," Dean said.

"It's just…" P.J. exhaled loudly. So loudly, it startled everyone. "Okay, I'm gonna sound…retarded when I say this." He lifted off his FUBU baseball cap and ran a hand through his curls. "That night, the night she died, we went on a date. To the county fair." P.J. replaced his hat. "They had this fortune-telling machine. You know, one of those old ones that looks like a toll booth or something. The kind with the talking mannequin inside?"

Proud of his extensive movie knowledge, Dean grinned as he said, "Like Zoltar in _Big_."

"Yeah. Well, Courtney thought it'd be fun to get her fortune read." P.J. rose from his seat and treaded across the living room. He reached for a small suede handbag hanging from the coat rack by the front door. He unzipped the purse, dug around through it, and extracted a small white card. "This is what the machine gave her." He handed the card to Dean.

Dean studied it carefully. The piece of paper was about the size of a standard business card, and the font used to print Courtney's fortune was simple and plain. Most likely Arial or Times New Roman. There was nothing special about the card except for the message it contained.

Printed in black ink across the face of the card was the ominous prediction Madame Zendala had made: _"You must use great caution. Take heed, for grave danger awaits you. Each journey must come to an end, and yours, my friend, will end soon."_

Dean passed the card to his brother. "Courtney got this the night she died?"

P.J. nodded. "Yeah. Like only a couple of hours before."

"From a mechanical fortune teller," Dean repeated for clarification.

"Yes." P.J.'s fear was growing more and more obvious by the second. His face drew up. His eyes widened. "I know it's kinda stupid, but…that's a pretty weird coincidence. Don't you think?"

"For sure," Sam agreed, handing the fortune to Jennifer for her to see. "Are you saying...you think the machine…killed your girlfriend?"

"No," P.J. argued. "No, not at all." He fixed his eyes on the Jay-Z poster. "What happened to Courtney really was an accident. I…heard it when it happened." He gulped. "She was, uh, she was bad about leaving stuff plugged in when it shouldn't have been. She almost burnt the place down with her curling iron or whatever it's called I don't know how many times." He sighed. "The fortune teller didn't cause her death. It just…predicted it, somehow."

Sam dipped his head. That theory was a tad more plausible.

"And there's more," P.J. hesitantly went on. "That same night at the fair, Courtney left me alone for a second. She went to the restroom. While I was waiting for her, I stepped up to the machine to get my fortune told. Just to pass the time." His hands trembled as he reached inside a shirt pocket and removed a card that matched the other one. His eyes misted over as he gave it to Dean.

Dean stared at the card in silence, dumbfounded by the sentences printed on it: _"For everything there is a time. There is a time to live and a time to die. A time to love and a time to let go. The times will change soon, and great sorrow will be yours."_

"I didn't pay any attention to it." P.J.'s voice cracked with emotion. "I should have, but I didn't." He rubbed his forehead. "It was a freaking carnival machine! I thought it gave cards like that to everyone. Just to scare them, you know? For 'fun'."

Jennifer took P.J.'s card from Dean. She read over its message a couple of times, and with each reading, she grew a little more disturbed. Her hands shook slightly as she held the card between her fingers.

"It doesn't make any sense." P.J. swallowed hard. "But somehow…the machine knew what was going to happen."

The Winchesters and Jennifer shared glances.

"P.J., is the fair still in town?" Sam asked him.

"No," P.J. replied. "It was only here for a week."

* * *

Back at the sleazy Paradise Motel, Sam was in front of his laptop, busily researching the mysterious fortune-telling machine. A few Google searches led him to discover the name and location of the contraption. Madame Zendala, The Great Soothsayer, was currently part of the Merrell County Fair in Rodentown, Indiana.

Interestingly, Sam found something else. Over the years, many fair-goers had reported strange experiences similar to P.J.'s. He shared his findings with Dean and Jennifer, who were sitting at opposite ends of the bed closest to the table-turned-desk.

"Listen to this," Sam got their attention. "A woman in Illinois visited the Powers County Fair in '05 and decided to let Madame Zendala, the same machine P.J. and Courtney used, tell her fortune. The card she received said, '_Your luck is about to change for the better. Today, the fates will smile upon you._' Just for fun, the woman bought a scratch-and-win lotto ticket that same day. She scratched the card and won the top prize- $30,000."

Dean whistled. "Man. That prediction was way better than P.J. and Courtney's."

"No kidding." Sam kept his eyes on the computer screen. "In 1992, an Arkansas man also got his fortune told by Madame Zendala at a county fair. He was told that in nine years, he would meet his true love by the sea. In 2001, exactly nine years later, he took a trip to Cozumel, Mexico, where he met the woman who is now his wife while jogging on the beach."

"Huh." Jennifer raised her eyebrows. "That's pretty awesome."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. He scrolled the webpage down. "There's several more stories just like those." He signed offline and closed his laptop. "I don't know how, but apparently, whatever Madame Zendala says comes true."

"Well." Dean looked at his younger brother. "I say we head to Merrell County and check it out for ourselves."


	28. 1X6, III: Secrets of the Unknown

_Merrell County Fair,_

_Rodentown, Indiana._

Not a single cloud was thoughtful enough to veil the rays of the giant August sun that beat down upon Dean, Sam, and Jennifer as they wandered through the entrance of the Merrell County Fair. The heat produced by the blinding late afternoon light was almost suffocating. Jennifer was thankful she'd decided to wear a tank top with cropped pants and flip-flops. As she wiped a bit of sweat from her forehead, she noticed the Winchester brothers were both wearing their usual layered shirts, jackets, and jeans.

She wrinkled her nose with disapproval. "How the _heck _can you two stand to wear five shirts when it's like 200 degrees outside?"

Dean looked at her and grinned flirtatiously. "Is that your subtle way of asking to see more Winchester skin?"

"No," Jennifer sighed. "It's my subtle way of saying you're an idiot."

Her blunt reply got a hearty chuckle out of Sam.

"You're wearing just as many layers as I am, genius," Dean pointed out to his younger brother as they walked by a ring toss game. "I'm pretty sure _you_ were included in that ridiculous insult." He turned to Jennifer. "Actually, Jennifer, Sam and I are the smart ones here. Sure, we're burnin' up right now in our fashionably layered shirts and jackets. But you? With your pasty white skin? You're gonna look like a freakin' lobster by the time we're outta here."

She frowned, although she knew it was probably true.

Dean turned his head away from her and kept walking. "Don't think I'm rubbing aloe on your peely sunburns."

"You're so kind," Jennifer said.

"Aren't we supposed to be looking for the fortune teller machine?" Sam reminded the bickering two.

"I've been looking," Dean huffed. "I haven't seen it. But I _have _seen at least two snow cone stands already. I think we need to make a pit stop."

Annoyed, Sam grunted. "Dean, we just got here."

"Oooh, funnel cakes!" Dean exclaimed, looking as excited as a six-year-old. He strayed away from Sam and Jennifer and made a beeline toward the funnel cake booth. "You want one?" he called over his shoulder. "I'm not sharing."

"I think we're good," Sam replied.

Dean shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever."

Jennifer and Sam waited by the petting zoo while Dean ordered himself one of the deep-fried, doughy concoctions. Minutes later, he joined them, holding the funnel cake with one hand and licking powdered sugar from the fingers of the other.

"Dude." Grinning from ear to ear, Dean held up the greasy dessert. "I'm pretty sure this is our most awesome case ever." The three of them resumed walking. "Hey, when we're done checking out this fortune teller thing, we should totally ride the scrambler. The guy working the funnel cake stand said it's crazy."

"Yeah, we'll _definitely _get on the scrambler with you after you eat _that_ thing," Sam said sarcastically, staring down at the sugar-covered pile of fat. He felt his stomach turn. "Seriously. It's probably pure lard."

"You're no fun, Sam. At all," Dean said, shoving an oversized bite of funnel cake between his lips. The mouthful muffled his voice as he added, "You're the world's biggest party pooper."

Sam ignored him and kept his eyes focused on their surroundings, hoping to spot the fortune telling machine.

"You'll ride the scrambler with me, won't you?" Dean asked Jennifer.

"Uh…" She was surprised by how enthusiastic he was about the county fair. However, the more she thought about it, the more she took into account the stories he'd told her about his and Sam's childhoods. She realized he'd probably never been to too many events like this one. Dean had never truly gotten to be a kid, so he was trying to make up for it now that he had the chance. Feeling a bit sorry for him, Jennifer smiled. "Sure. But only if we can do the bumper cars after that."

He grinned at her with satisfaction. "Deal."

"Guys," Sam alerted them. He froze and pointed to his right. "Over there."

Nestled between a carousel and a corn dog stand, the wooden booth containing the mechanical Madame Zendala took up only a few feet of space. Sam, Dean, and Jennifer quickly headed toward the machine and stopped a few feet away to examine it. The 'insert coin' light was blinking furiously, begging for quarters.

"Huh." Sam made a face as he slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "I expected it to be less… cheap-looking."

Madame Zendala's golden glass eyes turned from her crystal ball and stared out at the three of them. She blinked slowly and jerked her hands back and forth above the crystal. She tilted her head unnaturally and opened her mouth. "Give me a quarter, and I will tell you what fate has in store for you," she 'said.'

"Wow," Dean said, with eyebrows raised. "A truck stop waitress in Tucson once told me the same thing."

Jennifer and Sam said nothing.

"Here, hold this." Dean handed his funnel cake to Jennifer and began searching his pockets. It took a while, but he eventually found a quarter. "Alright." He glanced at his brother, then Jennifer. "This should be interesting." He leaned forward, dropped the coin into the slot, and took his funnel cake from Jennifer's hands. "Thanks."

Madame Zendala's crystal ball came to life with a yellow glow. Her painted red lips parted as she said, "You who wish your fortune revealed, please step forward."

Dean bit into the funnel cake as he moved closer to the machine. With a mouth full of dough, he said, "Guess I'll test it out."

"Listen carefully, my friend," the machine continued its generic message. "Madame Zendala will share with you the secrets of the unknown."

"A bit dramatic, aren't we?" Dean commented, still chewing.

The color of the crystal ball switched from yellow to green to violet, then ended on bright red. A white card appeared in the dispenser.

Dean shrugged as he bent down to remove his fortune. "Let's see what fate has in store for me," he grinned. He squinted in the sunlight as he tried to read Madame Zendala's message. His green eyes suddenly popped open wide.

Jennifer noticed his change of expression. "What? Can I see it?" she asked, stepping closer to him.

Her question caused Dean's eyes to grow even larger.

"What is it, Dean?" Sam wanted to know.

Dean gulped down the bite of funnel cake he'd been chomping on and handed his brother the card.

Sam read it aloud: "'_She who asks to _see _your future _is _your future._'" He glanced up at Dean, surprised. He then turned back to the card to finish reading Dean's fortune. "Uh…'_The two of you will unite in love as you face the dark together. Though trouble will come to stay, your love will survive the battles._'" Sam paused, reflecting on what had taken place. "Jennifer, didn't you just-" He stopped again and looked at Dean. "Didn't she- didn't she ask-"

Jennifer's face turned slightly pink. And it wasn't because the sun's ultraviolet rays were already getting to her.

The three of them were completely silent.

"For a small fee, Madame Zendala will share with you more secrets," the machine's prerecorded female voice interrupted.

Dean cleared his throat loudly. "Well. This just got awkward."

"Um, well, obviously, the, uh, machine's not 100% accurate," Jennifer stuttered.

"Right," Sam agreed quickly. Really quickly.

The uncomfortable silence returned.

Dean grabbed the card from Sam. Trying to lighten the mood, he read it again with a forced grin: "_She who asks to _see _your future _is _your future- _in bed."

"_Really_, Dean?" Jennifer sighed. She unzipped her purse and found her wallet. Within seconds, she'd retrieved a quarter and slipped it into the fortune telling machine. Madame Zendala told her to step forward, so she did. The crystal ball did its thing. Another card appeared. Jennifer picked it up, hoping Dean and Sam couldn't tell that her hands were shaking a little.

"Well?" Dean demanded impatiently. "What's it say?"

Jennifer blushed and passed the card to him without uttering a word.

"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me," Dean said as he read her fortune. It was just like his, only the gender had changed: _"He who wants to _know _your future _is _your future. The two of you will unite in love as you face the dark together. Though trouble will come to stay, your love will survive the battles." _

Jennifer and Dean avoided each other's eyes.

"Seriously?" Sam asked, stunned by the incident. A sly grin crept across his features. "Looks like you two are meant to be."

The destined-for-love couple glared at him.

"Or maybe the machine's messed up," Sam hastily changed his opinion for the sake of saving his rear. "Let me try." Jennifer handed him a quarter, and he inserted it into the slot. He followed the machine's directions. He watched as the crystal ball flashed from yellow to green. Green to violet. Violet to black. It stopped there. Black filled the crystal sphere, causing it to resemble a large, polished obsidian stone. Yet another white card exited the machine. Sam took it.

Before Sam even had a chance to read it, Dean said, "Please tell me it says we're destined to fall in love because I wanna know what it says." He winced. "That gave me a headache."

Sam raised a brow. "This machine's predictions are always right. You _really _want it to say that?"

Dean shrugged.

"You'd be just as happy with a gay, incestuous relationship as you would be with me," Jennifer concluded. She exhaled loudly. "Thank you."

"Really, man, what does it say?" Dean inquired.

At Dean's urging, Sam flipped the card over and read his fortune. He pursed his lips. He gulped. His hazel eyes narrowed. His jaw clenched tight.

"Well?" Dean persisted.

"You were right," Sam said. He released a nervous laugh. "It's the same card you two got."

"Really? Let me see," Jennifer told him.

"Why?" Sam hurriedly tucked the card inside the breast pocket of his gray and blue striped button-down. "It's just the same dumb message."

Sensing his brother was lying, Dean studied Sam's face carefully. Yep. All the signs were there. The unsteady smile. The involuntary twitching. Sam was definitely being dishonest. "Sammy?"

"Hmm?"

"What'd the card _really _say?"

Sam's left nostril twitched. "I told you-"

"Sam-"

"Nothing." The youngest Winchester heaved a sigh. "It was stupid."

"Come on, Sammy," Dean pleaded. "What'd your fortune say?"

"It said my idiot brother will be my downfall."

Jennifer could also tell something was up. "What did it really say, Sam?"

"That _was _what it really said."

"Sam," Dean grunted.

"Can't we just drop it?"

"Nope."

Sam scratched the back of his neck nervously. His arm dropped to his side. "Fine." He plastered on a smile. "It, uh, it said a beautiful woman is in my future. We'll meet in a train station, and she'll be wearing a trench coat."

A big grin spread across Dean's face. "Way to go, Sammy!" He slapped Sam on the shoulder in an affectionate brotherly way. "Guess I know where we're headed when we leave here, huh? Wonder where the nearest railroad is."

"A train station," Jennifer repeated. "That's random."

"Not as random as the trench coat," Dean said. "What's with that?" He was quiet for a moment, then he grinned even wider. "Hey, maybe _all _she's wearing is a trench coat."

Sam didn't seem too excited when he said, "Maybe."

Jennifer turned away from the brothers and stared through the glass at Madame Zendala. Her eyes moved from the mannequin's face to the crystal ball to the deck of tarot cards spread out across the table in front of the plastic fortune teller. Then she noticed the ring on Madame Zendala's left hand. A thick gold band with a complex, occult-looking symbol engraved in the center. Jennifer felt a strange attraction to it. The ring was important somehow. "Come look at this," she told the guys.

"What?" Dean asked, coming to her side.

She pointed at Madame Zendala's left hand. "Her ring. Do you know what that symbol means?"

Sam leaned in for a closer look. "No," he said. "But it kinda looks like a quincunx."

"A what?"

"A five-spot," Dean answered. "It's used in hoodoo spell work, right, Sam?"

Sam nodded. He grabbed his cell phone from his jacket pocket, flipped it open, and went into camera mode. Zooming in on Madame Zendala's ring, he snapped a photo. "I'll check it out when we get back to the motel. It might explain what's going on with this machine."

"Yep." Dean examined the message on his own white card once again. He glanced down at Jennifer, who was looking his way. He sighed and slipped the card into his back pocket. "Well, future lover, you still wanna hit up the scrambler?"

"I don't know," Jennifer said, frowning slightly. "I feel kind of sick now."

"Yeah." His expression matched hers. It did even more so as he eyed the remaining funnel cake. "Me too."


	29. 1x6, IV: It's Alive!

_Paradise Motel,_

_Wilbanks, Indiana._

The Winchester brothers were sitting alone in their room, reviewing the peculiar situation as Jennifer freshened up next door. Sam sat at the table in front of his laptop, as usual, while Dean reclined on one of the round, vibrating beds. The Magic Fingers, however, had not been turned on. The day had been awkward enough already.

Dean absent-mindedly fingered the lacy trim on a decorative heart-shaped pillow as he stared at the white card given to him by Madame Zendala. "This is the dumbest, cheesiest fortune ever," Dean said. "It sounds like it was written by a fourteen-year-old girl. I mean, come on. 'Your love will survive the battles'? Gimme a break," he huffed. "And 'The two of you will unite in love as you face the dark together'? _Unite in love?_ What the hell does that even mean?"

"I don't know," Sam replied. He continued cautiously, fully aware that he was treading upon slippery turf. "Maybe…it means you two are supposed to get married."

"_Married?_" Dean wrinkled his forehead with disdain. "I don't think so." He stuffed the card in his pocket. "Maybe it just means I'm gonna get laid."

"Then you mean you're gonna sleep with Jennifer." Sam stifled a laugh.

Dean's eyebrows arched in response. He shoved the heart pillow away and rested against the headboard. "Yeah, something was seriously wrong with that machine."

"You know, it's weird," Sam focused on his laptop as he typed. "You sound a little…disappointed."

"Disappointed?"

"That the machine's wrong."

"Are you seriously trying to say I _want _to boink Jennifer?"

"Did you seriously just say 'boink'?"

Dean was quiet.

"Well…do you?" Sam asked, keeping his eyes on his computer.

"Do I what?"

"You know…"

"No," Dean responded, staring at the coin slot on the Magic Fingers. He heaved a sigh. "No, I don't wanna…go there. With her. Dude, why are we even having this conversation?"

"You're really saying that if you were given the chance, you _wouldn't _sleep with Jennifer?"

"That's what I'm saying."

"Wow, where's the real Dean?" Sam turned away from his computer screen to look at his brother. "You're really not attracted to her? Not even a little?"

"No, Sam, that's what I've been tryin' to tell you."

"Yeah, I know, but that's crap," Sam told him. "I've watched you two together, and I've noticed something. Every time she looks away, you stare at her. And every time you turn away from her, she checks you out."

The tiniest of smiles tugged at the corners of Dean's lips. "She does?"

"Yeah. She does. And you can't sit there and act like that doesn't make you at least a little happy inside." Sam twisted in his seat until he faced Dean. "It's just…I don't know, man. The two of you have chemistry."

"So do nitroglycerin and peroxide."

"I'm just saying…she'd be good for you," Sam informed him solemnly. "Look, you could use someone else in your life. You've got me, and that's it. God knows you've had your share of one-night-stands, but Dean, haven't you ever wanted more than that? More than just sex? Don't you want a real relationship?"

Dean stared at the red silk coverlet.

"I know with what we do, we've always ruled it out, never even considered it. We've thought it'd be impossible to have something like that," Sam went on. "But with Jennifer…she's already on the road with us. She's right here, hunting the same things alongside us."

"Maybe so, but it's not gonna be that way much longer," Dean reminded him. "She's only sticking around for a few hunts. To see how the job's done."

"Madame Zendala seems to think otherwise," Sam retorted. "And maybe she's right. Maybe the two of you really will end up together, 'facing the dark together'. The machine has been right about everything else so far."

"Speaking of which," Dean sighed. "You need to get back to your research there before you start picking out names for our kids."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Just think about it, okay?"

Dean shrugged off the conversation and leaned his head against the headboard.

* * *

In the next room over, Jennifer had her cell phone pressed to her ear as she updated her mother on her 'mission work' in 'Louisiana.'

"-and three more people got saved last night at the evangelism rally. Things are just going so well, they've asked us to stay a little while longer," Jennifer fibbed.

She felt bad enough for lying to her own mother, but lying about doing the Lord's work was especially guilt-inducing. Plus, she knew that sooner or later, her lies would fall through. Something was bound to happen to reveal the truth about where she was and what she was doing. It was simply a matter of time.

"Well, uh, I need to go," she continued, eager to end the chat. She wanted to keep the lies to a minimum. "I've gotta get back to painting that house." A pause. "I'll call you later. Love you." She was quiet as her mother returned the sentiment. "Bye."

Jennifer clapped her phone shut as she collapsed to the bed. The round, vibrating bed identical to the ones in Dean and Sam's room. She rolled over onto her back and stared at her reflection in the mirrored ceiling.

How the _heck _had she ended up in a place like this?

Her mom believed she was rebuilding hurricane-destroyed houses, feeding the homeless, and ministering to lost souls, when in reality, she was lying on a vibrating bed in a sleazy motel in Indiana after having run off with two guys she barely knew.

She gulped. When the truth came out, as it should surely would, she would be in deep crap. She feared her mother's reaction, her father's reaction, everyone's reactions. But more than that, she worried about what would happen next. What would she do? Was she supposed to go back to Antioch, back to her job waiting tables at Gene's Restaurant, back to her parents' house now that her apartment lease had ended?

She couldn't do that. Not now. And according to Madame Zendala, she wasn't going to.

Her second option frightened her as much as the first. Was she really destined to 'unite in love' with Dean Winchester? Whatever _that _meant? Were the two of them really going to become each other's futures as they fought evil together?

All that thinking was causing a headache.

Jennifer was relieved when someone knocked on the door to her room. She rose to answer it and found the protagonist of her thoughts. "Hey," she greeted Dean with a soft voice.

"Hey," he said. "We, uh, Sam found something."

* * *

Now in the guys' room, sitting on the bed closest to the door, Jennifer crossed her legs and placed her hands in her lap. "You think the machine is…a fetish?" she repeated Sam's theory.

Sam nodded. "A fetish is a man-made object that's been given supernatural powers. They're associated with a lot of obscure West African and a few Native American religions, but in this particular case, we're talking voodoo."

Intrigued, Jennifer waited from him to continue.

Sam slid his laptop around so the screen was visible to Jennifer and Dean. "The symbol you noticed on Madame Zendala's ring was actually two different symbols, one overlaying the other. This is one of them." A blown-up image of an occult figure filled the screen. "This one is actually an animation symbol used in some voodoo rituals to bring non-living things to life. In this case, whoever created the ring made it specifically to bring the mannequin to life." Sam clicked a few buttons and brought up another motif. "This is the other symbol. It's the mark of the soothsayer. Apparently, in voodoo spell work, whoever adorns themselves with this symbol obtains the ability to see the future."

Jennifer leaned in for a closer look.

"When you combine the two, you've got yourself a carnival attraction that makes accurate predictions of the future," Sam finished.

"Well, _somewhat _accurate predictions," Dean countered. "I think _our_ fortunes proved that it screws up every now and then. Me and Jennifer are pretty friggin' far from 'uniting in love', and I'm not seeing any hot babes in trench coats chasing after you."

"True," Jennifer remarked.

Sam shrugged as he closed his laptop. "Nobody said those things were gonna happen today. It's your _future_. That's kinda the whole point, Dean."

"So, shouldn't we find the person who created the machine?" Jennifer wondered aloud. "Stop them from playing with voodoo before someone gets hurt?"

"Already tried," Dean told her. "Turns out it won't be much of a problem. The guy died over fifteen years ago."

"Oh. Then we're done?" she asked.

Dean dipped his head. "Seems that way."

"Well," Jennifer sighed. "That was easy."

"Wasn't it?" Dean grinned. "We should celebrate. I say we go back to the fair and ride that scrambler."


	30. 1x6, V: Sam's Fortune

_Merrell County Fair,_

_Rodentown, Indiana._

The bright lights of the carnival outshone the low-hanging yellow crescent moon that night. The sun had disappeared hours ago, taking the unbearable summer heat along with it. Dean, Sam, and Jennifer were thankful for the cooler night air as they entertained themselves at the crowded festival.

Actually, the three of them ended up having quite a bit of fun together. They found that it was a refreshing change from their usual burdensome lives. A rare, much-needed time of simple, pointless leisure. They rode everything from the Thunderbolt coaster to the free-fall tower. They took a break for the demolition derby. Dean won a fuzzy, neon pink, stuffed monkey playing balloon darts. Jennifer, naturally, ended up carrying the monkey.

And yes. They rode the scrambler. Much to Dean's satisfaction, it was just as crazy as the funnel cake stand employee had promised. Sam had refused to ride anything else after a bad experience on the Tilt-A-Whirl, so Jennifer rode with him. They were squished together uncomfortably for a full sixty seconds by the physics of the scrambler, and when the ride stopped, they were basically sitting on each other's laps, dizzy.

Munching on an enormous cone of pink cotton candy, Dean presently led the way around the fairground. "What now?"

Jennifer glanced around the park, trying to decide where to head next. Her eyes focused on the biggest, brightest attraction in the park. "How about the Ferris wheel? We haven't done that yet."

Dean nodded. "Let's go then."

Sam suddenly stopped walking. "Hey, uh, you know what?"

Jennifer and Dean came to a halt and turned to face him.

"You guys go on ahead," Sam told them, suspiciously avoiding eye contact. "I'll catch up with you later."

"Why?" Dean inquired.

"I've, um, I've just gotta use the restroom."

"Sure you do," Dean said. He rolled his eyes and had some more cotton candy.

Sam managed a smile as he made a run for it, leaving Dean and Jennifer alone.

"What's with him?" Jennifer asked Dean as they continued toward the Ferris wheel.

Dean shook his head. "For some reason, he's bound and determined to make our fortunes come true."

"He's purposefully leaving us alone?"

"And hoping we'll bond." Dean ogled the funnel cake stand as they passed it. "He means well. Really, he does. But he seriously needs to drop the whole Little Miss Matchmaker thing."

Jennifer grinned. "Little Miss Matchmaker?"

Dean tore off more cotton candy. "You know what I mean."

They shared a friendly chat all the way to the Ferris wheel, but their conversation ended abruptly when they reached the structure and climbed into their own little private car. Things got awkward the moment the wheel began to rotate. Enclosed together in the small car, they rose above the fairground and into the night sky, with dazzling bulbs beneath their feet and twinkling stars enveloping them…it was all too romantic. Both of them immediately wondered why in the world they'd decided to ride the stupid thing.

Jennifer stared at the sliver of a moon.

Dean scratched his left ear.

She nervously fiddled with the pink stuffed monkey's back fur.

He cleared his throat loudly.

She did the same. "So, uh, this is awkward," she finally said, blushing a little.

"Hell yes, it is," he agreed enthusiastically.

Jennifer forced herself to look at him. "I know you're probably thinking about that, um, fortune right now."

"It's kind of hard not to."

She nodded.

"Look, I think it'd be best if we just pretend it never happened," Dean said to her. "It's obviously making things weird with us, and when stuff like that happens, we can't do our jobs right."

"Exactly. Pretending it never happened is fine with me."

"Good."

They sat in silence as the Ferris wheel slowly turned around and around. The ride seemed as if it would never end.

After a while, Jennifer spoke up again, quieter this time. "Dean?"

"Mm-hmm?"

She couldn't bring her eyes to his. Instead, she focused her gaze on the amulet hanging around his neck. "You don't think…I don't know…that maybe the machine was right, do you?" Her tongue felt unusually thick. And dry. She swallowed. "Do you think there's a chance that what it said will happen…really _will _happen?"

"Crap," he groaned. "Have you got some kinda psychic vibes about us or something?"

"No, no, not at all. I don't have any vibes about any of it. I just…I want to know what you think about it all."

Dean wasn't sure what to say. "Uh…" He scratched his forehead. "Well, I sure as hell don't know what lies ahead for any of us. With what we face everyday, I'm not sure I really _want_ to know what's gonna happen next." He paused. "But as far as Madame Zendala's fortune for us goes…" He wet his lips. "I guess there's always a chance, right?"

She thought about it for a second. "Yeah. I guess so."

* * *

Sam did not have to use the restroom.

However, the opportunity for Dean and Jennifer to have a little alone time was only a bonus; it was not Sam's primary intention. He had slipped away from the two of them to get his _own _alone time. Because there was something he needed to do.

He hurried by the dunking booth, made a quick left at the bumper cars, continued on past the carousel, and stopped in front of the wooden booth that housed Madame Zendala.

Sam gulped as he stared at the mannequin. While everyone else seemed to find the all-knowing mechanical lady amusing, even charming, to Sam, she represented evil. He peered into her golden, cat-like eyes and instantly thought of the Yellow Eyed Demon.

He shivered a little as he withdrew a quarter from his pocket.

He didn't want to, but he had to. _He had to try again_. He held his breath and slipped the coin into the slot.

Madame Zendala said something, but her words were gibberish to him. Sam stepped closer to the machine, watching anxiously as the crystal ball flashed several bright colors then ended ominously on black. Just as it had earlier.

A fresh white card was his for the taking.

With a trembling hand, Sam reached for his fortune. He flipped the card over and read the message from the soothsayer. He shuddered. Just as he'd feared, it was the same fortune as before:

_"You must be careful, child, for the path you are on leads to evil._

_The darkness will seize you and reside within if you do not first extinguish it."_

His insides slithered as he re-read the card.

He had hoped for something else. _Prayed_ for something else. But it was the same.

The first fortune he had received had been identical. There had been absolutely nothing about a beautiful woman in his future. His story was a complete fabrication, trench coat and train station included. Instead, he had gotten a warning. One that was disturbingly similar to the one his father had whispered to Dean just before his death.

Time and time again, Sam had tried to convince himself that Dad was wrong and Dean was right. The demon had no plans for him. He had no evil destiny.

But this proved otherwise.

Madame Zendala was right about everything, and Sam knew she was right again. He was indeed bound for evil, and eventually, the darkness would, as the fortune said, 'seize him and reside within.'

Sam ripped up the card and tossed it into a nearby garbage can, determined to hide the truth from Dean.


	31. 1x7, I: Bad Feeling

A/N: Alrighty, everyone! Time for a new "episode". I just wanna thank you all again for the reviews. I am embarrassingly overexcited each time I see a new one posted! Your feedback is really encouraging, so please continue to let me know what you think! Thanks again for reading.

* * *

**"This Haunted House Is Haunted"**

* * *

_Maple Grove Cemetery_

_Edgemont, Oklahoma._

_One Month Later._

Jennifer had a bad feeling.

It was too vague of a premonition to interpret. Too unspecific to be useful. It was just uneasiness. A sense of oncoming trouble. _A bad feeling_.

And now, two days after the feeling had first begun, she was about to find out what it was all about.

Dean stood at the headstone of Patrick Norton's open grave, loaded shotgun in hand. He was keeping watch for the arrival of the undead dead postman while Jennifer and Sam lit the candles they had strategically placed at the burial site. The made-up ritual had worked the last time they were hunting a zombie, and they hoped it would do the trick once more.

Sam set the last candle aflame and grabbed the metal stake they had brought along with them. He straightened his posture, gripped the stake tightly, and waited. When- _if-_ Patrick the Zombie showed up, they would work together to push him into the coffin, and Sam would kill the creature by using the stake to pin it there.

Something rustled in the nearby bushes.

Jennifer glanced up, keeping her finger on the safety switch of the handgun the boys were letting her use. She clicked the mechanism off.

A fallen tree branch snapped under approaching footsteps. They had company. Hopefully, it was the zombie and not any local law enforcement officials there to bust them for desecrating a grave.

Slowly, Dean raised the shotgun. Sam held his breath. Jennifer gulped.

Then a polyphonic version of the well-known opening guitar riff to Heart's "Magic Man" filled the air. Jennifer jammed her hands into her pockets and located her ringing Motorola RAZR as quickly as she could to cut it off.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Patrick the Zombie burst out of the bushes and came at them.

Dean fired the shotgun at the living dead, hitting it square in the forehead. The creature's head snapped back from the impact. "Couldn't you have thought to put that thing on vibrate?!" he hollered at Jennifer as he emptied another round into the thing's unnaturally pale face.

"I'm sorry!"

The zombie staggered toward Dean, more angered than wounded by the shots. It took a few powerful swings at him. Punched him in the nose. Knocked the gun from Dean's hands and kicked him in the shin. Then the groin.

Sam turned to Jennifer. "Shoot!"

She swallowed, aimed at the freak, and pulled the trigger. She missed. On her second try, though, she managed to hit its left shoulder. She fired once more and hit its chest.

"Keep shooting!" Sam instructed her, noticing that Dean was purposefully leading the zombie close to the edge of the grave despite being beaten up in the process.

Jennifer did as she was told. She continued to shoot at the zombie, and it kept wobbling backwards. Finally, it lost its balance and fell into the open grave. Sam rushed after it. Using all the strength he possessed, Sam rammed the metal stake into the zombie's chest, trapping it inside the casket that the human version of Patrick Norton had been buried in upon his death.

The body soon went limp.

"Ugh!" Dean grunted, limping around the graveyard. He slumped against Patrick Norton's headstone. "For the last freakin' time, what's dead should stay dead!"

Jennifer switched the safety back on and holstered the handgun. She sighed and dug her phone out of her pocket. She flipped it open to check out her missed call. _1 New Voicemail._ She clicked 'call' and put the device to her ear. "_You have one new message. First unheard message._"

There was a long pause before she recognized the voice of Alma Bane. "_Jennifer. It's your mother._" Her voice was quiet. Solemn. Jennifer immediately knew something was wrong. "_I've got some bad news._" Her feeling. The bad feeling. Jennifer's breath caught in her throat as she made the connection. "_It's Dustin. He passed away last night._" The news of her first cousin's death completely shocked her. Her mouth gaped open. "_There was an accident. __You need to come home as soon as you can__._" The message was over.

Jennifer closed her phone and put it away. Then she just stood there, dreadfully quiet, staring into space, lost in her thoughts, all while her blue eyes quickly filled with tears.

"Something wrong?" Sam asked her.

She didn't respond.

Dean turned to look at her. "Hey. You okay?"

A long moment passed before she met his eyes. "My cousin died last night. In an accident." She breathed. "I've gotta go home."


	32. 1x7, II: Home

_Bane Residence,_

_Antioch, Alabama._

It was a little after six the next morning when the Impala rolled to a stop in the driveway of David and Alma Bane's red brick rancher. Dean had made the eleven hour drive in eight and a half. He shut off the engine and climbed out of the vehicle as Jennifer and his brother did the same. The three of them reunited at the rear of the car.

No one said anything as Dean opened the trunk. He removed Jennifer's bags for her and slammed it shut. Still holding her luggage, Dean asked, "Do you want me to-"

"No," Jennifer replied, knowing he was about to offer to carry her bags inside for her. She realized her tone had sounded a little rude, so she added, "I mean, thank you, but I can get them."

He studied her features with genuine concern as he passed the bags to her. Her face was drawn, her eyes were distant. He'd never seen her like this, and her melancholy state was getting to him. Really getting to him. Before he knew what he was saying, Dean told her, "Well, uh, we're gonna get a room in town, so we'll be close by if you need us."

Though Sam didn't think they would necessarily drop Jennifer off on her parents' doorstep and leave her there, _that_ information was news to him. It surprised him, too. As impolite as it might be, in any other case, this probably would have been the part where they would have gone separate ways.

"I appreciate it, really, I do," Jennifer said. "But you guys don't have to-"

"If you need anything," Dean interrupted, his tone serious, "you call us, okay? I mean it."

She nodded. "Thanks."

Dean moved toward the front of the Chevrolet. He pulled open the driver's side door and shot her a meaningful glance. "We'll be in touch."

Sam told her goodbye as they entered the car.

Within seconds, the Winchesters were gone.

Jennifer heaved a sigh as she slung her backpack over her shoulder and ascended the three small steps leading to the front porch, rolling her wheeled duffel bag behind her. When she reached the door, she wasn't sure if she should let herself inside or knock. She had a key, but it had been so long since she'd been home, the place seemed unfamiliar to her.

She decided to knock. Then she called herself an idiot for doing so and pulled out her key. She unlocked the wooden door and pushed it open. "Hey, it's me," she called out.

Despite the early time, she knew her parents were already up. Her mother was more than likely getting ready to leave for the hospital, where she worked as a registered nurse in the progressive care unit.

She was right. Alma met her in the foyer, wearing light blue scrubs, white slip-on tennis shoes, and her Antioch Regional Medical Center ID badge. "You made it," Alma said, pulling her into a hug. She let go and stepped back to get a good look at her oldest daughter. "How was the mission trip?"

"Uh…" Though she should have been expecting it, the question caught Jennifer off-guard. "It was…good. Very good."

Alma just stared at her for a moment. "That's good." Her thin eyebrows furrowed slightly. "Whose car was that?"

"Huh?"

"That old black car that just dropped you off?"

Jennifer struggled to swallow. "Oh, uh, that was Dean and Sam's. You met them last time I saw you, remember?"

"Oh, yes. They're new to your college and career class at church," Alma recalled. "They're _really_ cute."

"Uh-huh."

"You sure are gettin' friendly with those two." Alma's voice overflowed with hope when she asked, "You datin' one of 'em?"

"_Momma_." Jennifer turned away from her mother and moved into the living room.

Alma followed. "You can put your things in your old bedroom. I suppose you can stay there since you _lost _your apartment."

Jennifer heaved a sigh. She'd been home for less than five minutes, and her mother was already pointing out her screw-ups. Even in light of Dustin's death, the woman still found it necessary to pry into Jennifer's relationships _and_ comment on her homelessness. "So all my stuff is here? In my old room?"

"No, not all of it," Alma said, getting a bit of a tone. "We had to put most of your things in storage. That's been costing us money, too, you know. Your father and I have had to pay a monthly fee for that storage unit."

"Yeah, I know, I'm sorry. I'll pay you back."

"You know, Jennifer, it's a good thing Alanna was around to help your father and me move out all your stuff. While you were off on that mission trip you didn't bother to tell anyone about, somebody had to move out all your furniture. Since you _neglected_ to renew your lease."

Jennifer had nothing to say.

"Speaking of Alanna, when's the last time you talked to her?" Alma questioned her. "Have you even said a word to her since she's been away at school?"

"School?"

"Graduate school? Newkirk University?"

"Oh, the one in Washington?"

"Yes, Jennifer, the one in Washington! I guess that answers my question then."

Jennifer bit her tongue. Drew in a deep breath. Released it. "Listen, Momma, I'm here because Dustin is dead." A pause. "Can we _not _argue?"

Alma dropped her eyes to the floor.

Referring to the mother of her deceased cousin, Jennifer softly asked, "How's Aunt Maureen taking it?"

Alma sighed. "She isn't doing well at all. Your Aunt Bonnie was the one who told me what had happened to Dustin. She said Maureen is a wreck." She shook her head sadly. "First Lonny, now her only child…the poor thing. Her sister is staying with her."

Jennifer could barely believe the words she had heard. It still hadn't sank in that Dustin was gone. She could not accept that her cousin, the boy she'd grown up with, was dead. She cleared her throat. "Have the arrangements been made yet?"

"The funeral is tomorrow afternoon. They're not gonna have a public viewing, but they're receiving visitors at Maureen's place tonight."

Jennifer sank into the sofa. "Momma," she hesitantly began, "what happened to Dustin?"

Alma sat down in the leather recliner next to the couch and made herself comfortable. "He was touring one of those haunted houses, and there was an accident."

_Haunted house. Accident. _Jennifer's stomach flopped. "A haunted house?"

"Sloss Furnaces, I think. That big one in Birmingham."

Jennifer gulped. She'd heard the legends about Sloss Furnaces since she was a kid. The furnace was supposedly super-haunted, home to dozens of angry spirits belonging to former steel workers. "What?"

"You know that big to-do they have every year around Halloween."

"Yeah. Sloss Fright Furnace. Surely Dustin didn't go there alone."

"No," Alma exhaled. "That's the worst part." She paused, staring at a framed family portrait mounted on the wall behind Jennifer's head. "Terrence was with him…when it happened."

"Terrence?" Jennifer's heart sank. Terrence Fields was the roommate and lifelong best friend of her deceased cousin. "Is he okay?"

"Physically, yes. He got out outta there without a scratch," Alma said. "But mentally? He's traumatized."

* * *

_Home of Maureen Bane,_

_Antioch, Alabama._

Sam and Dean felt more out of place than usual as they followed Jennifer into the two-story house that belonged to her grieving aunt. The roomy abode was packed to capacity with Dustin Bane's family, friends, teachers, and coworkers, and Jennifer knew most of them. The trip inside consisted of one reunion after another. Aunt Rhonda. Aunt Diana. Uncle Billy. Cousin Chris. Dustin's baseball coach, Mr. Holloway. Sara Gould, the girl Dustin had taken to his junior prom. The Winchesters were forced to awkwardly stand alongside her as she caught up with people from her past.

"-sure nice seeing you again, Jennifer," a silver-haired lady told her, patting her on the back.

"You too, Mrs. Light." Jennifer smiled politely. Her smile faded as she moved along.

Following her, Dean tugged at his black necktie. He was constantly dodging an old lady or an obnoxious kid, and he was beginning to feel claustrophobic. But once they made their way through the sea of people in the living room, the crowd grew smaller. The dining room was empty except for a few middle-aged members of Dustin's church and the guy they'd been looking for. Terrence Fields.

Dustin's best friend was sitting alone in a far corner, staring sorrowfully at the hardwood floor beneath him. He looked up as they approached him, and his face immediately brightened at the sight of Jennifer. He rose from his seat and threw his arms around her.

"Hey, Terrence." Jennifer gave him a squeeze. "I'm so sorry." They held each other for a while, taking comfort in each other's arms.

As the embrace ended, Terrence managed a smile. "It sure is good to see you, Doodle."

Amused, Dean raised an eyebrow. "Doodle?"

"He's always called me that," she informed the brothers. "Since we were kids."

"Why?" Sam wanted to know.

"I don't even know," Terrence admitted.

Dean grinned. "Doodle. We'll have to remember that one."

"Who are you guys?" Terrence asked.

"This is my boyfriend and his brother," Jennifer lied, purposefully not specifying who was who. She sat down in the metal fold-up chair next to Terrence. There was only one other free chair close by, and Dean dashed to it before Sam had a chance. "So." She smoothed the skirt of her black dress. "How, uh-" She took a deep breath and spoke softly. "How are you?"

He shrugged his broad shoulders.

"Terrence," she nearly whispered. "What…happened?"

He shook his head, his dark brown eyes misting over. "You don't wanna know."

"You were at Sloss Furnaces, right?"

Terrence nodded.

"All anyone will say is that there was an accident," Jennifer said.

"And that's enough."

"I wanna know the truth, Terrence."

"The truth? The truth doesn't make sense."

"What do you mean?"

Terrence sighed. "It means…I don't know what happened."

"What do you _think _happened?" Dean spoke up.

Dean's intrusion startled him, but he answered anyway. "I think…I must have been seeing things."

Jennifer stared into his eyes. "What do you think you saw?"

Terrence drew in a long breath and reluctantly opened his mouth to speak. "It was opening night. Dustin and I were, uh, walking around inside the place when this…guy, this big guy in dirty overalls jumped out at us. He was holding an axe. A rusty old pickaxe." He swallowed. "He came running toward us and backed us into a wall, and the whole time, he kept yelling, '_Get back to work!_' Over and over." A tear forced its way down his cheek. He brushed it away quickly. "Then he got Dustin."

With tears forming in her own eyes, Jennifer found herself unable to respond. This was why she had brought the Winchesters along with her, and now they stepped in.

"So, this guy. He was one of the workers at the haunted house?" Sam questioned him.

"That's what I was talking about when I said it didn't make sense." Terrence wiped his tear-stained cheek with the cuff of his white dress shirt. "I thought he was one of the actors until I saw him- or I _thought_ I saw him- vanish."

"Vanish?" Dean repeated.

Terrence closed his eyes. "That's not the right word. He, like…dissolved. Into nothing, right in front of me, right after he got Dustin." His body visibly trembled. "You know how in the movies, ghosts are all see-through and stuff? This guy faded out just like that." He gulped. "Just like...a ghost."

Jennifer's eyes widened at the statement.

"I don't know what to think, Jen," Terrence confessed. "I've heard the stories about that place. About the hauntings." He sniffled. "I never really believed any of it, you know, but now...I just don't know what to think. All I know for sure is that I will never go back to Sloss Furnaces again."


	33. 1x7, III: Chivalry Isn't Dead After All

_Room 113,_

_Econo Lodge,_

_Antioch, Alabama _

"There's all kinds of stories about Sloss Furnaces," Jennifer told the brothers as she paced back and forth across the carpet of their motel room. "There have been tons of reported sightings and weird experiences over the years. The machines supposedly turn on and off by themselves, even though they haven't been used for decades. People have heard pipes moving, like somebody's working." She sighed. "There's been so many complaints that the show Linda Blair used to host, _The Scariest Places on Earth_, did an episode about it." She swept a stray ringlet behind her ear. "Actually, Sloss is listed as one of the top one hundred most haunted places in America."

"Look at you," Dean said, grinning. "Local ghost buff."

She blushed a little. "I told you before. I've always been into this kinda stuff."

"What else do you know about the place?" Sam asked her, glancing away from Google for a second.

"Well." She stopped pacing and sat down a foot or two away from Dean on the bed. "I know lots of people died there. Back around the turn of the century, one guy actually fell into the big furnace and melted instantly."

Dean winced. "Yikes."

Sam's expression showed that he concurred. He returned his attention to his laptop screen and clicked the mouse a couple of times. "Okay." He brought up the supposedly haunted furnace's website. "Here we go. Sloss Furnaces." Sam loosened his tie and began reading. "From 1882 to 1971, the furnace transformed coal and ore into hard steel. In the early 1900's, a guy named James 'Slag' Wormwood was the foreman of the 'graveyard shift', the period between sunset and sunrise."

"'Slag'," Jennifer repeated. "I remember hearing about him. He was horrible to his workers. He used to try to impress the bigwigs by making his men take dangerous risks to speed up production."

Sam nodded. "That's what it says here. 'During his reign, at least forty-seven workers lost their lives.'"

"Man," Dean said.

"The guy you were talking about who fell into the furnace? That was Slag," Sam said. "In 1906, he lost his footing at the top of the highest blast furnace and plummeted into a pool of melted iron ore." He cringed. "People assumed that the workers had finally had enough of Slag's slave driving and pushed him into the furnace, but it was never proven." He paused for a moment as he read silently. "Huh. Soon after his death, Sloss discontinued the graveyard shift, citing numerous reports of accidents and 'strange incidents' that decreased steel production."

"Right after his death, huh? Sounds like Slag might be our guy," Dean said.

Sam agreed. He clicked the mouse a couple more times. "Wow. You were right," he told Jennifer. "There have been more than one hundred reports of suspected paranormal activity at Sloss recorded in Birmingham Police records, from minor incidents such as steam whistles blowing by themselves to physical assault." A pause. "This is interesting. It says the majority of the reports have made in the months of September and October at night, during the old graveyard shift."

"Well, it's September," Dean pointed out. "And Dustin took the tour at night."

"Exactly. Everything lines up," Sam said. "And there's more. In 1926, a night watchman sustained injuries after being pushed from behind and told by an angry deep voice to '_get back to work_.' He searched the grounds and found no sign of any other living person."

"'Get back to work'?" Jennifer asked. "That's what Terrence said the guy told them."

"Mm-hmm. _And_ in 1947, three furnace workers went missing and were found locked in a boiler room, unconscious," Sam said. "Later, none of them could explain what had happened to them, but they all agreed that they were approached by a man with badly burned skin who angrily shouted at them to 'push some steel'."

"Okay, scratch that." Dean undid the top button of his white dress shirt. "Sounds like Slag is _definitely _our guy."

"I'd say so. But the way he died, if his body really did melt instantly, it's gonna be tough to find some remains," Sam said.

Dean heaved a sigh. "Wonderful."

"You know, I was just thinking," Jennifer said. "Why would Slag suddenly start killing? I mean, Sloss has been hosting the annual haunted house for years and no one has ever been seriously hurt."

Sam thought about it for a second. "That's a good point."

"You think we should check out the furnace tomorrow?" she asked the brothers.

"That'd be a good place to start," Dean replied.

"We can go right after Dustin's funeral."

"Then that's what we'll do," Sam said.

"Great." Jennifer rose to her feet and took her purse from the nightstand. "I'll call you when it's over."

Dean stood up as well. "Awesome."

Sam closed his laptop and remained seated at the table by the window.

No one said anything for a good fifteen seconds.

"I, uh," she exhaled loudly. "I guess I should go."

Dean smiled. "Yeah. Your mom's probably wondering where you are."

"Probably so."

But nobody moved.

Jennifer stared at the dingy paisley carpet.

Dean stared at Jennifer.

Sam stared at both Dean _and_ Jennifer, amused by their talent for creating uncomfortable silences.

"Well, uh…" Dean scratched his forehead. "Bye?"

"Yeah, I guess. Sorry," Jennifer said, moving toward the door. "Bye."

Sam frowned at Dean.

Dean sighed. He knew why his little brother was frowning. "I'll, uh, I'll walk you to your car," he offered, glaring at Sam.

A smile of approval replaced Sam's frown.

Dean followed Jennifer to the door, jerked it open, and allowed her to step out first. As he reached for the doorknob, he glanced back at Sam. The youngest Winchester gave him a quick thumb's up. Dean rolled his eyes and shut the door behind him.

As they stepped outside, a chill in the night air reminded them that autumn had officially arrived. Jennifer tugged at the sleeves of her black cardigan sweater, pulling the cuffs down over her hands to keep them warm.

The two of them stopped between the Impala and her maroon Honda Accord.

"So you'll call us tomorrow after the funeral?" Dean asked, not knowing what else to talk about.

She nodded.

"Cool." He shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "You want us to come by your parents' house and pick you up?"

"If you don't mind."

"Not at all."

The uncomfortable silence showed up again.

Dean shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "You know," he began, "I, uh, I'm not exactly the sharing and caring type, but-" He swallowed. "I know this has all gotta be tough for you. I mean, as if losing your cousin wasn't bad enough, you know, finding out the thing that did it was a ghost…"

Her eyes fell to the pavement.

"All I'm sayin' is..." Dean leaned against the passenger's side of the Impala. "I know what that's like."

Jennifer glanced up at him.

"To know that one of those things, one of those evil sons of bitches that we hunt, to know that they've taken somebody you care about." He stared into her eyes. "It ain't easy."

She blinked.

After a moment, he continued. "And I also know that you can't really talk about it with anybody." He stopped, clearly feeling a little vulnerable by opening himself up to her the way he was trying to do. "So, I, uh, I just wanna…let you know that, uh, that I…"

A soft smile formed upon her lips. "Thanks."

He released the breath he'd involuntarily been holding, relieved that she'd cut in when she did. Relieved that she understood where he was going with this. Relieved that she appreciated his effort. "So, you and your cousin were pretty close, huh?"

She sighed. "When we were kids, he was more like my big brother." She propped herself against the hood of her Honda. "He lived close by, so we spent most afternoons after school together." She half-smiled, lost in memories. "Dustin used to take me mud-riding, fishing, turkey hunting. You know, he was actually the one who taught me how to shoot."

"Well, he did a good job. I gotta say, I was impressed the first time I saw you shoot." Dean grinned. "Of course, my expectations weren't all that high."

She cracked a smile.

"I noticed you said you two were close when you were _kids_. What about after that?"

"He went away to college. Birmingham, to go to UAB." She got that distant look in her eyes again. "When he moved, he got busy with school. He stopped coming home on the weekends. And we just…stopped talking."

"Sounds like that's the story of your life."

"Pretty much. Dustin, Jay, my sister, now Alanna."

"Alanna?"

"Yeah. I just found out that she moved to Washington- _Washington_- without even saying goodbye." She frowned. "That's just how it's always been. Everybody always leaves, and I'm stuck here in Antioch."

What the heck was Dean supposed to say to that? He didn't have a clue, especially since he knew that he and Sam had to leave some time too.

Apparently, Jennifer didn't expect him to respond. She unzipped her purse and found her car keys before he had an opportunity to say anything. "I'll stop rambling now." She smiled at him. "Thank you, Dean." She gazed into his eyes. "For listening. For just…being here." Hesitantly, she took a step forward and slipped her arm around him, pulling him into a quick side hug. "It really means a lot."

Surprised yet okay with the gesture, he hugged her back.

She ended the friendly embrace and smiled once more as she opened the door to her Accord. "See you tomorrow."

"Yeah, okay. Goodnight."

"Goodnight." She climbed inside her car and closed the door.

Dean watched as she cranked the vehicle and drove off into the night.

* * *

Sam glanced up when the door to the motel room opened. He smiled as his older brother crossed the threshold. "I guess chivalry isn't dead after all."

Dean locked the door, irises rolling. "Shut up, Sam."

"I'm just saying…I'm pretty impressed by how you've handled this entire situation," Sam said, rolling back the teal bedspread. "I'm sure Jennifer is, too."

Dean glared at him.

"What?"

Removing his jacket, Dean approached the unclaimed bed. "Why do you keep doing that?"

Sam grabbed up a pillow and fluffed it. "Doing what?"

"Making those little comments, dropping those little hints. Lately, all you've been doing is insisting that Jennifer and me get together."

"Sorry. I didn't know it bothered you so much."

"It's not that it bothers me, Sam. It's just that…" Dean threw his jacket onto the bed and plopped down next to it. "You know it's comin', man." He caught Sam's gaze. "We can't stick around here forever. We'll have to leave."

Sam broke eye contact as he pulled back the sheets and slid into bed.

"I'll be the first to admit it, I've enjoyed having Jennifer around," Dean said. "She's a sweet girl, a nice change _visually_, for damn sure, and she's saved our behinds more than once, but this whole _Three's Company _thing we've got goin' on has gotta stop. Sooner or later, we're gonna have to go our separate ways. That's just the way it is."

"Yeah. I know."

"So, why do you keep pushing this crap?"

Sam's face darkened as an odd expression took control of his features. It was a very unusual look Dean couldn't recognize. "I, uh, I don't know," Sam said quietly. "I'm sorry. I'll shut up about it."

"That'd be good." Dean slapped his thighs. "Now if you'll excuse me, I gotta take a leak." He hopped up and headed to the bathroom, leaving Sam alone.

As the bathroom door closed, Sam stretched out and tried to relax. But lying on his back, staring at the mildewed ceiling, Sam couldn't get his mind to slow down. He was too busy thinking. Worrying. Obsessing over the sentences typed across the little white card he'd received from the mechanical fortune teller over a month ago: "_You must be careful, child, for the path you are on leads to evil. The darkness will seize you and reside within if you do not first extinguish it_."

The fortune had ruled his thoughts for the past four weeks, but he'd managed to keep it a secret. Dean still believed Sam's card had been about a trench-coat-wearing hottie he would bump into at a train station.

Knowing his destiny, the one both Dad and Madame Zendala had foretold, had become an overwhelming burden for Sam, but he wasn't about to share it with his brother. Dean had enough problems on his own. He didn't need anything else to worry about.

_Lately, all you've been doing is insisting that Jennifer and me get together. Why do you keep pushing this crap? _

Dean's words echoed in Sam's mind.

_Why do you keep pushing this crap?_

Sam knew why. It hadn't been intentional, but he knew why he kept pushing Dean toward Jennifer.

It all came back to his evil destiny.

Dad predicted that Sam would have to be either saved or killed, and with everything the Winchesters had been through, Sam was fully aware that there was a darn good chance he wouldn't make it out alive. And if that turned out to be the case, he didn't want Dean to be alone.

Sam heaved a sigh and closed his eyes, trying to forget about the future.

* * *

_Bane Residence,_

_Antioch, Alabama._

The house was dark when Jennifer unlocked the front door and let herself inside. She kicked off her black patent pumps the moment her feet hit the tile floor of the foyer for two reasons. One- her feet were killing her. Two- she didn't want to announce her late return by the loud clacking of her heels. She reached down to gather her shoes before proceeding into the blackness of the living room.

Jennifer fumbled around in the darkness, trying to find the light switch. She found it, flicked it on, and nearly went into cardiac arrest when the lamp's glow revealed her mother sitting on the sofa, watching her.

"Holy crap!" Jennifer exclaimed, raising a hand to her racing heart. "Gosh, you scared me! Why the heck are you sitting in the dark?"

Alma frowned. "I was waiting for you to get back."

"And you were waiting in the dark? Why? Are you trying to conserve energy or something?"

Ignoring her daughter's question, Alma presented one of her own. "Where were you?"

Jennifer was still a little out breath when she replied, "I was out with friends."

"What friends?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Why does it matter?"

"_What friends?_"

Jennifer swallowed. "Dean and Sam."

"You were with those boys again?" Alma's forehead wrinkled in dismay. "Why are you spending so much time with those two all of a sudden?"

"Why do you care so much all of a sudden?" Jennifer retorted, immediately realizing how disrespectful she had come across. "I'm sorry, but you're acting like I'm sixteen."

Alma's steely blue eyes narrowed as she studied her face. "What were you doing with this 'Dean and Sam'?"

"You're kidding."

She was not. The room was silent as Alma Bane waited for a response.

"We were just hanging out," Jennifer exhaled loudly. "Just talking. Are you happy now?"

"No, Jennifer, I'm not. I don't know _anything_ about those boys, and you're 'hanging out' with them at all hours of the night-"

"_All hours of the night_? Really? Momma, it's barely ten o'clock."

"I'm just worried about you."

"Worried? Why?"

Alma's frown relaxed a bit. "Tell me about these guys you've been spending so much time with."

Jennifer stared at her in silence.

"Sit down and talk to me. _Now_."

An uneasy feeling grew in Jennifer's stomach as she melted into the recliner. "Uh, well, what do you want to know? There's not really anything all that interesting about them."

"How'd you meet?"

"I told you already, we met at church in the college and career class."

Alma nodded. "What do they do? Are they in school?"

Wishing she was anywhere but where she was, Jennifer hesitantly fibbed, "Sam is."

"Which one's Sam?"

"The, uh, tall one."

"What about Dean? He's awfully cute. What does he do if he's not in school?"

"He, um-" Jennifer's voice came out scratchy. She cleared her throat and tried again. "He-" Her mind was blank. "Dean-" Totally blank. "Dean is…a preacher." She wanted to punch herself in the face for that brainless lie. Of all the random jobs out there to choose from, _why that one?_

Alma raised a brow. "Oh, really?"

"Well, more like a preacher-in-training. He's just starting out, that's what I mean."

"I guess I've got nothing to worry about then," Alma said, piercing holes through Jennifer with her intense gaze. "If you're hanging out with a preacher."

At that moment, Jennifer could tell for sure that her mother had not believed a word she had told her. "Yeah." She tried to smile, but her muscles contorted into something more like a grimace. "Nothing to worry about at all."


	34. 1x7, IV: Self Guided Tour

_Sloss Furnaces,_

_Birmingham, Alabama._

"A preacher?" Dean repeated for the third time. "A _preacher_?"

"I'm sorry!"

He shifted the Impala into park, shut off the engine, and pocketed his keys. "What happened to your 'acting' skills?"

"I don't know." Jennifer avoided eye contact as she unbuckled her seatbelt. "I was just trying to think of some trustworthy profession so she'd stop freaking out."

"Yeah, but…_a friggin' preacher_?"

Without another word, she jerked open her door and hurriedly exited the car. As Dean climbed out after her, his eyes met hers. "I'm _sorry_."

Sam met the two of them at the trunk of the Chevy, grinning. "It's pretty funny, actually."

"It's pretty damn ridiculous."

"Better watch your language, there, Brother Dean," Sam joked. "Don't wanna blow your cover."

Dean rolled his eyes. He raised the trunk lid and pulled open the hidden storage compartment, revealing a vast of array of weapons- everything from guns and knives to Tasers and crossbows.

Neither of the Winchesters appeared to be too concerned about the possibility of an onlooker observing the contents of the Impala, so Jennifer made up for it. She nervously glanced about to make sure no one was watching. A nudge on her arm caused her to jump. It was only Sam, handing her an EMF reader. She forced a smile and placed the handy gadget inside her purse.

Once the brothers were all geared up, Dean slammed the trunk and led the way toward the visitor center.

Jennifer felt a slight chill as they approached the enormous furnace. Without even taking into account the fact that her cousin had died here, the place was unsettling. The site was a monument to industrial decay. It screamed abandonment. Lifelessness. The mass of iron beams that towered hundreds of feet over them were corroded. The endless web of pipes winding around the furnace had been devoured by rust. Half a dozen or more giant smokestacks rose into the sky, but no smoke had been seen drifting from them in decades. And looming above it all, like a tombstone identifying a grave, there stood a massive gray water tower bearing the single name- _Sloss_.

"Jennifer?" Dean's voice startled her.

Then she noticed that she had, at some point, stopped walking, and the brothers were way ahead of her. She ran to catch up with them. "Sorry."

"You alright?" Dean asked.

"Yeah." Jennifer zipped up her army green jacket. "I'm fine."

Sam held open the door for everyone as they reached the visitor center. The atmosphere was completely different inside. It was a typical museum gift shop, complete with Sloss Furnaces t-shirts and keychains.

"Hey, welcome to Sloss," a heavyset woman greeted them from behind the counter. "Y'all here for a guided tour or what?"

"No thanks," Sam replied with a polite smile. "We're gonna take a self-guided tour if that's alright."

The woman smiled back. "It sure is. I'm thrilled y'all are here, but you should really come back in November to enjoy the full Sloss experience. Right now, we've got some parts of the furnace closed off for the haunted house we do every year."

Dean's eyebrows arched. "Oh, really? I don't suppose those _parts_ include the big furnace that James 'Slag' Wormwood fell into?"

"Why, yes, actually." A frown settled upon her face. "And I'm just devastated to tell you that we've been forced to close the Fright Furnace until further notice."

"Yes," Jennifer spoke up. "We saw that on the news."

"Mm-hmm. It's awful." The woman sighed. "Well, we've got some brochures for self-guided tours right here, and we've also gotta neat little video about the story of the furnace playing in the history room over there."

"Great," Sam said. He picked up a brochure. "Thank you."

"Sure thing, hon. Y'all enjoy your visit."

"Thanks. I'm sure we will," Jennifer said, giving her a friendly smile.

The three of them walked past a shelf of multi-colored coffee mugs bearing the Sloss Furnaces logo and exited the store. Once they were a good distance away from the entrance, they whipped our their EMF meters and got to work.

"What are we gonna do if the part where Slag died is closed off?" Jennifer asked the brothers quietly.

Dean stared at her. "Have you forgotten who you're with? _Nothing's_ closed off to us."

Before she could reply, a young blonde-haired man who apparently worked there approached them.

"Excuse me," the guy said, his voice echoing against the iron. "Excuse me. No cameras allowed."

Without missing a beat, Jennifer replied, "Oh, these aren't cameras. These are EMF detectors."

Dean and Sam tossed worried glances her way.

"EMF detectors?" The blonde repeated.

"Uh-huh. See, we're ghosthunters," she continued. "We investigate supposedly haunted places, check for EMF, EVP. Working in a place like this, I'm sure you know the drill."

"Of course I do."

"Right. Well, this is our thing. Ghost hunting. We actually have a series on Youtube."

The guy didn't seem particularly impressed, but he appeared to buy the story. "Oh, really? Like _Ghosthunters_?"

Sam nodded and backed Jennifer up. "Exactly like _Ghosthunters_."

"Alright." His eyes leapt from Sam's face to Jennifer's to Dean's. "What do you guys call yourselves?"

Jennifer wasn't too hasty in answering this time. She turned to Sam and Dean, whose faces showed that they had nothing better than she did. "Uh…" she started. "Ghost…Getters. We're the Ghost Getters."

A smile twisted Dean's lips. "Right. Cheesy name, I know." He slapped Sam's shoulder. "Sam here thought of it."

Sam's fake smile couldn't hide his gritted teeth when he said, "Everything else was taken."

"So, how long you been working here?" Jennifer asked the guy.

"Two years."

"Two years." Dean whistled. "That's a pretty long time. You ever had any kinda paranormal experience?"

The guy rolled his green eyes and huffed. "No."

Sam made a face. "Why do you say it like that?"

"Sorry to disappoint you guys." The guy folded his arms across his red golf shirt. "But I think this whole 'haunting' thing is a load of crap."

"Really?" Jennifer asked.

"Yeah. Just another way to make money."

"If you're such a skeptic, why are you working in a place like this?" Dean wanted to know. "It's supposed to be one of the most haunted places in America."

"Dude. That's _why _I'm working here. They can't keep anybody else around this place. Most people quit after their first shift because they _'hear things'_." He accentuated the last part by making air quotation marks with his fingers. "But like I said, I think it's all a bunch of lies. All part of some kinda Scooby-Doo-like hoax to make money off people who believe in the paranormal. Makes sense, doesn't it?"

Sam shrugged. "I guess."

"No, seriously. You wouldn't believe how much dough this place makes in a year just off of guided tours alone, all because people hear that this place is haunted," the guy said. "Not to mention the Fright Furnace."

"Speaking of the Fright Furnace, what do you know about the accident that happened here the other night?" Jennifer asked.

"Not much. I don't work nights."

"Didn't you find that event a little…strange?"

"You must not be from around here," the guy assumed. When they didn't reply, he explained himself. "We're in downtown Birmingham. The crime rates are super high here. Somebody's gettin' shot up or chopped up every other weekend. It didn't surprise me _at_ _all_ that another maniac snuck his way in here and did that to that poor guy."

Dean raised a brow. "You're certain it wasn't one of the actors on staff?"

"We don't have a character in overalls with a pickaxe this year."

Sam and Dean exchanged looks. "Let me ask you this," Sam said. "Have there been any significant changes to the haunted attraction this year? Maybe even the furnace in general? Something that's never been done before?"

"We expanded the length of the trail. But they do that just about every year. They're always spending _money_ to make the Fright Furnace bigger and better."

Sam thought for a moment. "How did they expand the trail?"

"Well, they included an area of the furnace that has always been closed off."

"Let me guess," Dean said. "The big furnace where ol' Slag met his maker."

The guy seemed surprised. "How'd you know?"

"Just a hunch. Listen, was there anything left of the guy after he fell in?"

Now the blonde guy seemed _really _surprised. "Uh…what?"

"Were there any remains? At all?" Dean pressed.

"That's a really freaky question, man."

"Yeah, well, your _face_ is freaky," Dean huffed, annoyed with the kid. "Were there or weren't there any remains?"

"No, I think he, like spontaneously combusted or whatever."

Sam asked, "Do you know where we might could find some of his personal belongings?"

"Uh…why?"

"Just answer the question," Dean snarled.

"I think we've got some of his crap in the history room."

"Okay, great. Thanks for your help," Sam told the guy. "But we'd really like to take a look around by ourselves if that's okay."

"Sure," he said. "My boss would be pissed if she knew I was talking to you this much anyway, you know, since you didn't _pay_ for a _guided_ tour." The guy backed away. "Good luck finding Casper." He left them alone.

Dean put away his EMF detector. "What an idiot."

"Alright, so, for the first time in Sloss Fright Furnace history, the area where Slag fell to his death has been opened up for business," Sam thought aloud. "And on opening night of the new and improved haunted house, Dustin is killed by a vanishing man who sounds suspiciously like the spirit of James 'Slag' Wormwood."

"Apparently all the commotion is upsetting him," Jennifer said.

"Yep. We've just gotta find some remains," Dean reminded them.

Sam sighed. "Let's check out that history room."

* * *

The blonde-haired conspiracy theorist employed at the furnace was right about one thing- a pair of James 'Slag' Wormwood's gloves were enclosed inside a glass case situated in a corner of the history room.

So, Sam, Dean, and Jennifer left the furnace and came back after closing time, ready for some salting and burning.

Jennifer bit her lip as she shined her flashlight on her surroundings. Old black and white photographs. A small collection of glass display cases filled with artifacts from the industrial revolution. It was a museum. A historical landmark. She felt bad for trespassing there.

She watched as Dean raised the muzzle of his gun to the case containing Slag's gloves. "Dean!"

"What?"

"You're not gonna shoot that, are you?"

"What does it look like?"

"This is a museum. There's gotta be a _cleaner_ way to steal the stuff.

Dean put away his gun with a sigh. "Fine." He yanked out his knife and began working on the lock. "But it's a heck of a lot slower." With his skills, it barely took thirty seconds. He pried open the case, lifted out Slag's worn leather gloves, and handed them to Sam.

As Sam reached for his lighter, Jennifer stopped him. "Let me do it."

He nodded and passed her the gloves of her cousin's killer.

Jennifer flicked on the lighter, but no flame resulted. Just then, she felt a cold hand on her shoulder. It shoved her forward with inhuman force, thrusting her across the room. She slammed into one of the display cases and fell to the floor in a shower of glass.

Both of the brothers went for their guns as the see-through body of a tall, portly man in dirty overalls emerged from the darkness and came barreling toward them, wielding a rusty pickaxe.

"_Get back to work!_" he bellowed at them.

The ghost of Slag stomped closer to the Winchesters, tightening his grip on the axe handle. The nearer he came, the bigger he got. The scarier he got. His forehead was creased. His lips were stuck in a permanent scowl. His eyes were dark with hate. Rage. And determination. He was on a mission.

Dean jerked the trigger, exploding rock salt into the spirit. Slag vanished.

Sam dove for the gloves while Dean, who expected Slag's ghost to show up again, kept his finger on the trigger of his pistol. The lighter decided to work this time. Sam had the gloves flaming within seconds.

Dean ran to Jennifer's side. "You okay?" he asked, noticing that her face was a little bloodied.

She managed a nod.

He knelt down beside her and gently brushed bits of broken glass off of her. "Come on." Dean helped her up. "Let's get outta here."

* * *

_Bane Residence,_

_Antioch, Alabama._

"Man, you're lucky," Dean said, plopping down into the dining chair next to Jennifer. From the assortment of first aid items spread out before them on the dining room table, he grabbed a bottle of antiseptic wash and unscrewed the lid. "All that glass that was around you…your face should have come out lookin' like Edward Scissorhands's."

Sam, who stood leaning against a wall, nodded. "He's right. Those cuts could have been a whole lot deeper."

Dean emptied some of the antibacterial liquid onto a clean washcloth and handed it to Jennifer.

"Thanks." She took it from him and glanced at herself in the small vanity mirror she'd borrowed from her mother's bathroom. The incident with Slag's ghost and the glass museum case had fortunately caused only a few minor cuts and scrapes. The worst of those was just below her right cheekbone. Watching her reflection in the mirror, she carefully began to clean the gash with the cloth. "I have a feeling I'm gonna feel a lot worse in the morning."

"That's a given," Dean said. He slid a bottle of Tylenol her way. "Better go ahead and take some of these now."

She nodded and twisted open the container. Took two tablets. Washed them down with a sip of Aquafina.

"Hey, uh, Jennifer?" Sam removed his back from the wall and stood up straight. "Is it alright if I use the restroom?"

"Of course." She swallowed some more water. "Down the hallway, first door on the right."

Sam excused himself and followed her directions.

Dean rolled his eyes. "I guess that's our cue to bond."

"I don't know," Jennifer said. "Maybe he really had to pee."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe." He stared at the mirror in silence, watching her reflection as she cleansed her cuts. "So." She glanced at him in the mirror, causing their eyes to meet awkwardly in the glass. "It's, uh, it's getting kinda late. You sure your parents won't be home any time soon?"

"They shouldn't be. They're supposed to be staying with Aunt Maureen tonight."

Dean relaxed a little.

Jennifer picked up a tube of Neosporin and removed the cap. "So." She squeezed an ample amount of ointment onto a cotton swab. "Where are we headed next?"

His stomach clenched at her question. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Actually...we need to talk. About that."

She set down the swab and turned to him.

He couldn't look into her eyes. "You can't come with us this time."

"Why not?"

"That's just the way it is."

"Then what am I supposed to do?"

Dean gulped. He hated himself for what he was about to say, but he had to get it out. "Stay here. In Antioch. With your mom. Your dad."

"Dean, I can't! I'm too far into this to turn around now."

"No, you're not. You can still get out. But if you don't do it now, you might never get the chance."

"But-"

"We said we'd take you on a couple of hunts. Show you the ropes. We did. Now we're bringing you back home."

"Then you think I'm ready to hunt on my own?"

"No. Just-" Dean sighed. "Just drop this okay? Forget about all of this. Forget about the road, forget about the job, forget about me and Sam."

"I can't!"

"Well you better try."

"Dean, please-"

"_No_. You have to." A pause. "This isn't your fight."

A frown twisted her face. "What do you mean this isn't _my_ _fight_? I have nightmares and premonitions, just like Sam, just like the other psychic children that are apparently involved in some sort of demonic plan to take over the world. A demon killed my friend Trevor. Hellhounds dragged my associate pastor to Hell!" Her voice grew more hostile with each sentence. "A _ghost _killed my _cousin_!" She narrowed her eyes at him. "This is definitely my fight, Dean. And I don't have to fight it with you and Sam."

"You just don't get it, do you?" He leaned forward and slammed his elbows onto the table. "The pain. The sacrifice-"

"What do I have to sacrifice? I have _nothing _here."

"Dammit, Jennifer, you've got your family! If nothing else, they've got you. If you do this, if you decide to hunt for good, they won't have that much longer." He glared at her. "It's like you're just looking for a way, any way, to get out of this mundane, friendless, little existence you've got here in Antioch. You don't understand how tough the job really is."

"Oh, I understand fine."

"No, you don't!" Dean leaned even closer to her. "Think about it. Crappy diner food, forever. Crappy motels with questionable sheet stains, forever. All the credit card scams, all the running from cops, all the lying, all the daily brushes with death. _F__orever_."

"I know!"

"Back in Des Moines. That shapeshifter. You climbed down into the sewer, alone, with some cheapo Wal-Mart knife to protect you. I can think of at least a hundred ways that could have ended badly."

"Yeah. But it didn't."

"Biloxi. Ava had you pinned to the wall with her psychic mojo. If Sam hadn't iced her, you'd be dead."

"But I'm _not_."

Dean grunted. She was seriously testing his patience. His voice flooded with frustration as he said, "What about tonight? You cut it pretty freakin' close there with Slag's ghost. If me and Sam hadn't been there, you'd have ended up just like your cousin. You gettin' out in one piece? With only those scratches? That was just dumb luck."

"Well, maybe, but-"

"And what kinda lies are you gonna tell your mom if you run off with us this time?" Dean interrupted her. "What are you gonna tell her when you've been gone for months? When you get hurt on the job?" He swallowed hard. "And what the _hell _is she gonna do if you don't ever come back?" He gulped again. "Because that's a damn good possibility."

She glanced down at the first aid supplies.

"You gotta listen to me, Jennifer." Dean paused dramatically. "I don't want your blood on my hands."

Jennifer looked up just in time to see her mother lingering in the doorway of the dining room. Alma Bane's face was white. Sickly white. Expressionless. And her blue eyes were locked on her daughter.

Time seemed to freeze for a moment.

Jennifer sat in her seat, stunned into silence, staring back at her mom.

Dean was the first to recover from the shock. He put on a half smile. "Well, uh," he stuttered. "I-I guess I oughta be gettin' back to the church." He cleared his throat. "You know, there's, uh, lost souls to save…" Dean quickly rose from his seat and hi-tailed it out of the dining room to grab Sam and get out of the house.

Jennifer was alone with her mother.

Neither of them moved.

After a long period of horrible silence, in the most solemn of voices, in a quiet tone Jennifer had never before heard from her, Alma finally spoke. "Please explain to me how what I just heard can be true."

Jennifer had no idea what to say. Even if she _had_ thought of the perfect response, she probably would not have been able to open her mouth and spit it out.

"Are you leaving again?" Alma asked calmly.

She nodded. "Yes." The single word came out in a squeak. "I can't stay here, Momma. I can't stand it anymore."

Alma's expression did not change. She continued to stare blankly at her daughter as she said, "Well, don't expect to have a home here when you come back." With that, she turned and left the room.

Jennifer did not even try to stop her. Instead, she stood to her feet, went to her old bedroom, packed her bags, and left.


	35. 1x7, V: Goodbye For Now

_On the road._

_A few hours later._

Jennifer was pushing sixty in her Honda Accord on some unfamiliar back road when her cell phone rang. She reached for the device, which was resting conveniently in her cup holder. Removing her eyes from the traffic-free highway for just a moment, she checked the caller ID.

_Dean Cell_.

She swallowed hard and turned down her stereo, quieting the sounds of Boston. She flipped open her RAZR. "Hello?"

"Hey, it's Dean." Jennifer heard him cringe as he said, "Please tell me your mom had _just _walked up."

She heaved a sigh. "Not exactly."

"What happened?"

"You mean after you ran for the hills like a coward?"

"No," Dean said. "After I ran for the hills like a smart person."

Jennifer sighed again. "She kicked me out."

"What? Where are you now?"

"I don't know. Somewhere in Louisiana."

"_Louisiana_?" Dean repeated. "What the hell are you doing there?"

"Driving. Hoping my stupid psychic crap will lead me to someone I can help."

"And just how do you expect to help them?"

"By using everything I've learned. What Brother Frank taught me. What you and Sam taught me," she said. "I'll manage."

"I'm sure you will." That sounded a bit sarcastic. "You could have at least said goodbye."

She frowned. "Why? You wouldn't have let me go alone. But you wouldn't have let me go with you either. You didn't want my blood on your hands. Now, this way, if anything happens to me, it's my own fault."

"_That's_ the truth."

Her frown deepened.

"So, what, you're just gonna live in your car?" Dean wanted to know.

"I don't know what I'm gonna do. I guess I'll just find my own cheap motel with questionable sheet stains to stay in. At least until my money runs out."

"That's insane."

"I've got nowhere else to go, Dean," Jennifer admitted, keeping her eyes on the dimly lit road ahead. "No apartment. No friends. No family. This is all I've got." She gulped. "Look, I know how hard the job is. I've seen how dangerous it can get. I know the risks you have to take, and I know the consequences of taking them. These past couple of months, I've seen all of that first hand." She paused. "I know it's insane. But this is what I've gotta do."

The line went silent. After a few seconds passed, she heard Dean draw in a deep breath. "Well," he started, "Just promise me…please…that you'll be careful."

She was touched by the fact that he cared. "Okay. I will."

"And try not to get into too much trouble. Because I'm for _damn _sure not comin' to save your ass."

Jennifer smiled. "I'll keep that in mind."

"But you know…" Dean cleared his throat. "For what it's worth, I, uh, well, me and Sam both, we didn't mind havin' you around. After all these years of doing this together, you know, he and I kinda have our own way of doing things. Of getting the job done. But somehow, we made it work with you. And honestly…you were a big help. So…uh…yeah." He cleared his throat a second time. "If you need us, call us. Okay?"

"Okay. Thank you."

"No problem."

Silence.

"Well, uh, you and Sam," Jennifer said, trying to swallow the lump that was growing in her pharynx, "you two be careful, too."

"We will."

"And call me, some time, you know, to let me know how you're doing."

"Of course."

More silence.

Out of habit or nervousness or a combination of the two, Dean cleared his throat again. "Take care of yourself, Jennifer."

She just nodded, only somewhat aware that he couldn't hear her response.

There was a click as Dean hung up his end.

Jennifer closed her flip phone and placed it back inside the cup holder. With a weary sigh, she relaxed in her seat and stared at the asphalt stretching out before her, wondering where in the world it would take her. And if it would ever lead her back to the Winchesters.

She increased pressure on the accelerator and drove onward into the unknown.

* * *

_A dark hallway._

_Sam journeyed down a dark hallway. Or tunnel. A dark tunnel. That was a better way to describe the blackness that enclosed him. He moved along cautiously, listening as a deep voice originating from unseen lips taunted him._

"_You are mine, Sam."_

_The voice grew louder as Sam took two steps forward._

"_You belong to me."_

_He felt his heart pounding inside him._

"_Come to me, Sam. You're mine."_

_Sam swallowed._

"_Don't make me come to _you_, Sam."_

_Suddenly, the darkness shifted, and a pair of gleaming yellow eyes appeared before him. Those familiar, menacing eyes that were so ironically the color of sunshine and warmth and happiness. _

"_Join me, Sammy."_

Sam's eyes popped open. He sat straight up in bed, terrified from the nightmare. Frantically, he glanced around the motel room, expecting to find the Yellow Eyed Demon lurking in the corner, waiting to strike. But he saw nothing threatening. The place was still. Dean was sleeping soundly across the room. The only noise was the soft hum of the air conditioner.

Sam was safe. For now.

It didn't take him long to realize that he wasn't going to fall asleep again anytime soon.

He didn't want to.

So, to keep himself from drifting off into his nightmare again, Sam quietly rose from his bed, being careful not to wake his sleeping brother. He pulled on some clothes, exited the motel room, and went for a walk. Just as he had done every single night for the past three weeks without his brother's knowledge.


	36. 1x8, I: I Hear That Train A' Comin'

A/N: Hello! I'm finally done with the first chapter of the next "episode." Computer problems, plot holes, and plain ole procrastination have been slowing the writing way down. Bleh. I guess it worked out better though, since the show is now on hiatus 'til 2010! Maybe this will help fill the void. :) (BTW, awesome episode Thursday night, wasn't it??? Man...) Anyway, I hope you guys are still sticking around to see exactly where I'm going with this. Thanks again for all the reviews! They make me happy. Please keep them coming!

* * *

**"Lonely Is The Night"**

**

* * *

  
**

_Whistle Stop Motor Lodge,_

_Boyden, Missouri._

_Three Weeks Later._

Dean awoke with a start when the sound of a train whistle blared through the paper-thin walls of the motel. For a second, Dean actually thought the locomotive was _in _the room with him. No wonder the rates had been so cheap. The place was built on a freakin' train track.

_Guess we shoulda taken the name of the joint more seriously, _Dean thought to himself with an aggravated grunt. _Ugh. The places we stay in_.

His bed trembled as the freight train shook the floor in passing.

Dean huffed and rolled over, turning his back to the window. Then he realized he needed to pee. After a few minutes of convincing himself that he had to _move _to get to the toilet, he stumbled out of bed and somehow managed to find the bathroom in the darkness. He did his business, left the seat up, didn't bother flushing or washing his hands, and exited the tiny restroom.

On the way back, he noticed Sam's bed appeared to be empty. He flicked on a beside lamp to get a better look.

Stacked pillows. Crumpled sheets. No Sam.

Dean frowned as he glanced at the clock on the nightstand. _4:41 AM. _It had been around that same time the last time he had discovered his brother's early morning disappearance.

This was the third time this month. And Dean wasn't sure what to do about it.

It wasn't like Sam was a teenager with a curfew; he was a grown man who was free to come and go as he pleased. Dean acknowledged that. He didn't care if Sam was making frequent midnight rendezvous to the book section at Wal-Mart or whatever it was that his type did for fun. Sam's absence didn't bother him one bit.

What bothered him was the way Sam never mentioned these outings of his. It bothered him that, when asked, Sam never gave a straight answer regarding his whereabouts. But what bothered Dean the most was simply the fact that his brother was hiding something from him. Because he knew that could only mean trouble.

* * *

_Mike's All-Nite Café_

_Boyden, Missouri_

Sam was sitting alone in the empty restaurant, occupying a corner booth, when the train roared by. His laptop was open on the table before him, the home page of Google filling the screen. He typed "Dugan, South Carolina" into the search bar and waited for the results to load.

He rubbed his forehead. The glow of the screen made his head hurt. The loud train whistle doubled the ache. Hoping to dull the pain with a little caffeine, he reached for the mug of coffee the waitress had refilled several minutes ago. He took a sip of the liquid and wrinkled his nose. Nasty. It was room-temperature. Probably made hours ago. Definitely made with cheap beans.

He forced it down anyway.

Sam had never been a big coffee drinker. In fact, he pretty much hated the taste of the stuff. A fresh pot of joe had a delightfully enticing aroma, but the bitterness offended his taste buds. He never understood why Dean loved it so much, let alone why he liked it strong and black. If Sam _had _to drink coffee, he also had to doctor it up with enough milk and sugar to bake a small cake.

Frowning, he returned the mug to the tabletop. He ripped open another packet of sugar, emptied it into the cup, and gave it a good stir.

_That oughta do it._

Sam set down his spoon and lifted the cup to his lips once more. Unfortunately, it still tasted like horse urine.

He took another big gulp.

Despite his hatred for coffee, this was his third cup. He was starting to feel like Heather Langenkamp's character in _A Nightmare on Elm Street_. In the famous horror flick, she downed one cup of coffee after another to avoid falling asleep and falling vulnerable to Freddy Krueger, the clawed killer who came to her in her dreams.

Lately, the Yellow Eyed Demon was Sam's very own personal Krueger. Night after night, the demon made an appearance in Sam's dreams- calling him, taunting him, tempting him.

Sam tried to ignore it all. He didn't want to let the nightmares get to him, because he knew that was what Yellow Eyes wanted.

Plus, there was always a chance that his nightmares were_ just _nightmares. People have bad dreams about the things they fear most. Shootings. Plane crashes. Sitting down on a toilet filled with snakes. It made perfect sense that Sam would have nightmares about the thing that killed both his parents and his girlfriend.

But Sam knew there was more to it than that.

For the millionth time, he thought about the other psychic children. Scott Carey. Ansem Weems. Trevor Bradley, the telepath who went to church with Jennifer. The nurse in Colorado, Grace Ingram. For each of them, their downfall began with nightmares about Yellow Eyes. He visited them in their dreams, telling them to do things, and they either obeyed his orders and went dark side, or they rebelled and became demon lunch.

Determined not to have to choose between the two, Sam drank more coffee.


	37. 1X8, II: Death Of A Shoe Salesman

_Kenwood's Department Store,_

_Dugan, South Carolina._

"So you want to work in men's shoes," Lisa Hillier, the blonde-haired manager of Kenwood's, said to the interviewee sitting on the opposite side of her mahogany desk.

"Yes, ma'am," Jennifer Bane replied. "Men's shoes."

A faint smile appeared on Lisa's face. "Well, you're in luck. It just so happens we're needing someone in that department right now."

Jennifer already knew that. Actually, it was their shorthanded men's shoes staff that had lured her to the store in the first place.

She had just finished working her first solo job (a death omen in Texas) when she was led by her psychic intuition to Dugan, South Carolina. She ended up in the parking lot of the Gaylord Mall with her car facing the north entrance of Kenwood's, a high-end department store with overpriced merchandise and underpaid employees.

Jennifer soon learned that the body of Morton Werth, a men's shoe sales associate at Kenwood's, had been discovered in the men's shoe stockroom only hours before her arrival. His corpse showed signs of ligature strangulation, but the security footage proved that no one else had entered or exited the stockroom during Morton's shift, which suggested that the killer had been of the invisible assortment.

Two days later, Jennifer was being interviewed by the store manager, in hopes that she would get Morton's job and find out the truth about his death.

"Normally," Lisa said, "I would wait and interview a few other applicants before making a decision, but with all your experience in shoe retail, you seem like the perfect fit for our store."

Evidently, Jennifer had spent too much time with the Winchesters. She had felt almost no guilt when she falsely listed three years of employment at Rack Room Shoes on her application, and she had no problem continuing the lies as she sat in front of Lisa Hillier. "I've just always enjoyed helping people find a good shoe," Jennifer piled on the crap. "Because, I mean, shoes are more than just a fashion accessory or a foot protector. When you have the right shoe, you have a good, solid foundation, and that's more important than most people realize."

"That's very true."

"To get anywhere, you gotta start from the ground up. That's my mantra. And the same goes here. When your feet are happy, so are you."

Lisa appeared to be impressed by Jennifer's passion for selling shoes. She verified it when she asked, "When can you start?"

"As soon as possible. How about tomorrow?"

"That'd be great. I'll have you come in at ten. Sound good?"

Jennifer gave her best professional smile. "Sounds wonderful."

Lisa returned it. "Fantastic." She rose from her seat and leaned across the desk to shake her hand. "Jennifer, welcome to the team."

_* * *_

_Boyden, Missouri._

Sam was surprised to find Dean awake and waiting for him when he returned to their room at the Whistle Stop Motor Lodge an hour and a half later. "You're up awfully early," Sam said, keeping his cool.

Dean didn't move from his seat at the edge of the bed closest to the door. "You were out awful early."

"I went to get us breakfast." Sam held up a greasy paper bag and a cardboard cup carrier that held two beverages. He set the items on the window-side table. "Sausage biscuits and coffee."

Dean frowned at him. "It took you two hours to get breakfast?"

Sam played dumb. "I'm sorry?"

"You've been M.I.A. since at least four-thirty this morning. Where the hell have you been?"

"I couldn't sleep, so I went for a walk."

"Really? Another walk, huh?" Dean was getting a tone with him. "You've been takin' a lotta those lately."

"I hear it's good for circulation."

Dean ignored the smart aleck comment. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

Offended, Sam's eyebrows shot up. "What, you don't trust me?"

"Answer the question."

"Seriously? We've been through this before, Dean."

"I know we have."

"So why go there again?"

Dean stood to his feet. "Because. I'm starting to worry about you."

"Well, don't. Everything's fine."

"It better be," Dean told him, after a pause. "'Cause you know that keeping each other in the dark only leads to trouble."

Sam gulped. "Yeah. I know."

Dean slid a chair away from the table and sat down in it, ready to tear into the bag Sam had brought for them.

"So." Sam took the other chair. "While I was out, I found us a job."

Apparently not ready to let the argument go, Dean asked, "While you were out walking?"

Sam glared at his brother. "I took my laptop and walked to the diner down the road. They had Wi-Fi, so I got connected, did some browsing, and found an interesting article."

"About what?"

"A shoe salesman in South Carolina was found dead in the stockroom of Kenwood's department store. Apparently, someone strangled him to death, but the security tape shows that he was the only person in the stockroom all day."

"Maybe somebody tampered with the tapes," Dean countered, unwrapping his biscuit.

"_Or _it could have been a ghost. Or a shapeshifter, maybe, taking on the guy's form," Sam said. "Or a hundred other things." He lifted one of the coffee cups from the carrier and took a sip from it. "We're only a couple of states away. I think it's worth checking out."

Dean shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever."

_* * *_

_Dugan, South Carolina._

_The next day._

Jennifer clocked in at exactly two minutes before ten. She nervously fidgeted with her clothing, tugging on the sleeves of her gray blazer and dusting lint off her matching pants, as she strolled across Kenwood's in search of the men's shoe department.

It didn't take long to find it. It was a small section located between suits and street wear. Probably the most boring place in the entire store. It was surely boring to look at. Tables covered with the same basic styles, all in dull blacks and browns. Definitely not as visually interesting as the ladies' shoe department with its flashy pumps and flats and boots and sandals in a variety of colors and textures.

Jennifer was happy her job here was only temporary. She was positive she'd go crazy in a place like this if she stayed too long.

A short, turtle-like black man with a shiny bald head approached her, smiling. "Hello," he greeted her warmly. "You must be Jennifer."

"Yes, sir."

His smile broadened and his friendly voice grew even friendlier. "Oh, great, that's just great!" He gave her a pat on the back. "My name's Freddie Green. I'll be training you." Freddie was shorter than he had first appeared. She actually had to look down to talk to him. "So, your first day, huh? That's exciting. Have you ever worked in retail before?"

Jennifer almost responded with an honest 'no', but she realized she should keep her story straight. "I worked at Rack Room Shoes for three years."

"Oh, so, you've got plenty of experience in shoe-selling." This seemed to make Freddie even happier. "Plenty of experience, indeed. That's great, Jennifer. Just great."

She hoped that lie wouldn't come back to bite her in the butt. "How long have you been here at Kenwood's?"

"It'll be fifteen years this coming March," he replied proudly. Quite proudly.

"Wow. That's impressive."

"It's just a good place to work. That's all there is to it. No need to leave when I know I couldn't find anything any better." Freddie touched her shoulder. "Jennifer, let me go ahead and show you around."

"Okay."

He led the way across the sales floor, behind the register, and through a doorway. "Alright, Jennifer." Freddie was apparently one of those people who repeated a new acquaintance's name over and over in conversation to remember it. He certainly wouldn't forget hers. "This here is the stockroom."

The room was way bigger than she had imagined it, at least three times the size of the men's shoe sales floor. It consisted of row after row after row of shelves that held neatly organized shoeboxes arranged according to color, style, and brand.

It looked like every girl's dream closet. Well, if it had been filled with something besides boring men's shoes.

Freddie explained the categorizing system in detail, telling her how to properly run the shoeboxes, how to flag them, and lots of other information she would forget before they returned to the sales floor.

"-and of course, the flag is always the right shoe," Freddie told her. "But I'm sure you already know all this from Rack Room."

"No, actually, they did things a lot differently there," she lied in a clever attempt to save herself. "This is all new to me."

"Oh, okay. Well, here at Kenwood's, it's just really, really important that everything is organized accordingly. _Very _important."

"That shouldn't be a problem for me. If there's one thing I can do well, it's organize things." That was not a lie. Her closet, the one she _used _to have at her apartment, was more strictly organized than this stockroom. In fact, she had already noticed two Rockports out of order, and the observation was bothering her.

"Oh, no!" Evidently, Freddie spotted the mistake too. "Oh, no! Oh, no!" He exclaimed, horrified, as he squatted down. "Oh, my goodness!" With trembling hands, he quickly rearranged the misplaced Rockports, moving the shoeboxes to where they belonged. "Oh, good Lord, good Lord!" He heaved a sigh of relief as he stood up.

With her need to keep things straightened, Jennifer probably could have been diagnosed with OCD, so she didn't exactly have room to judge. However, the way Freddie Green had gotten so worked up over the Rockport incident made him seem a little…unbalanced. He appeared to be obsessed with keeping the place clean. Maybe he was simply the perfect Kenwood's employee- he had been there for fifteen years, after all- but his issue with stockroom tidiness was kind of creepy.

His cordiality had faded at some point. His face was now grim. "Let's get out of here," Freddie said, hurrying toward the exit.

She followed him out of the stockroom to the cash register, where he spent the next hour showing her how to use the different functions of the machine, all the while acting as if nothing odd had happened.

Freddie's strangeness didn't necessarily mean anything, though, Jennifer told herself. Fifteen years doing the same monotonous job of selling boring men's shoes was sure to have a negative effect on the human psyche. She decided to leave it at that for now and focus on finding out more about Morton Werth's death.

When a quiet moment finally presented itself, she asked, "How many employees are there right now in men's shoes?"

Friendly Freddie was back now, all smiles. "Well, let's see. There's me...and now you."

"That's it?"

"Mm-hmm."

"That's a really small staff."

"It's a small area."

"But only two people?"

Freddie shrugged.

She had hoped he would bring up Morton on his own, but obviously, that wasn't going to happen. "I heard something about another employee. I think his name was Morton?"

Freddie's smile disappeared. "Yes. Morton."

She waited for him to go on, but he didn't. She sighed. She was going to have to drop her tactfulness to drag some information out of him. "I heard he died. Here. In the stockroom."

He nodded.

"What happened?"

"It was an accident."

"An accident?" Jennifer raised her eyebrows. "The police said he was strangled."

"I'd rather not talk about this right now."

"I know it must have been hard, losing a co-worker and all, but-"

"Not so much," Freddie revealed, avoiding eye contact. "Morton was a lazy worker. He sold shoes like nobody's business, but he was messy. Never kept a thing in order. What happened to him was tragic, but he had it coming."

Jennifer backed off at that. The longer she talked to Freddie, the more convinced she became that there was nothing supernatural going on at Kenwood's and that the man beside her was a psycho who had offed his co-worker. Perhaps the reason why the cameras showed no one else going in or out of the stockroom the day of Morton Werth's death was that Freddie had stayed in the stockroom the night before, hiding, waiting to strangle his untidy fellow shoe salesman.

Yep. Fifteen years was definitely too long to sell men's shoes.

A good swipe over the place with the EMF meter would settle things. She kept waiting for Freddie to go to lunch, to at least take a bathroom break, so she could investigate the stockroom alone, but he continued to stay at her side, monitoring her every move.

It was her first day. What could she expect? She'd have to wait until tomorrow.

* * *

_St. Mark's Hospital Morgue,_

_Dugan, South Carolina._

Dr. Rose Sanchez, the head forensic pathologist at St. Mark's Hospital, studied the badges of the two handsome police detectives standing before her. She squinted as she read the names: _Detectives Billy Gibbons and Frank Beard. _Not being a fan of ZZ Top, she found nothing suspicious about the Winchesters' cover. "What can I do for you, gentlemen?" she asked.

Sam tucked his badge in the interior pocket of his navy suit jacket. "We need to see the body of Morton Werth."

"Ah." She nodded. "The shoe salesman."

"That's the one," Dean said.

"Right this way." She led them to the refrigerators, unlocked and opened one of the units, and rolled out the tray. "There you go." Dr. Sanchez pulled back the sheet, revealing the corpse. "Morton Werth."

Dean leaned in for a closer look. "He was strangled, correct?"

Dr. Sanchez nodded.

"And you believe someone else did the job?" Dean asked.

"See these marks here?" With a gloved hand, Dr. Sanchez pointed to the dead man's neck. "These marks indicate ligature strangulation- in this case, with a shoe lace. Notice how these marks are slated up toward the back of the neck?" She glanced up at the brothers. "If Morton had managed to strangle himself, the angle of the ligature marks would be different. This angle suggests that another person strangled him from behind."

"You're positive?" Sam inquired.

"Yes. Even though the camera didn't pick up anyone else going in or out of the stockroom," Dr. Sanchez said with a sigh. "It's weird. I've seen the exact same case before."

Dean's eyebrows arched. "What do you mean?"

"It was maybe…ten years ago. Another shoe salesman from the same department store. Same cause of death, same problem with the security camera, same everything. I told some of your men about it already, but nobody seems to be willing to make a connection. All they gave me was, 'this is a small town, this isn't some kinda serial killer or copycat murder'." She paused. "But that's what it looks like to me."

Sam and Dean exchanged knowing glances.


	38. 1x8, III: No One Left To Call

_Holiday Inn Express,_

_Dugan, South Carolina._

Dressed in a cozy, oversized sweatshirt and her favorite Superman fleece pajama pants, Jennifer sat on the lumpy mattress in the dark, a yellow legal pad resting across her thighs. She propped against the plastic headboard, staring at the only source of light in the small motel room- the television.

A re-run of _Smallville _was on. It was the one where a guilt-ridden Clark, under the influence of red kryptonite, hopped on a motorcycle and sped off to Metropolis, planning to never return to Smallville. A big fan of the show, Jennifer knew it was a good episode. The second season finale, to be exact, and a real cliffhanger. She had seen it half a dozen times.

But tonight, she couldn't get into it. She was too busy thinking. Not even Tom Welling's good looks were enough to distract her from the crappiness of her life. Not even with the motorcycle and the leather jacket.

Jennifer had spent a lot of her life feeling lonely. Although she had a naturally outgoing personality, she only had one close friend, and that was Alanna. She'd never really dated much. The only real relationship she'd ever had was the doomed one with Jay O'Hanegan. She felt isolated by her family, and her hidden psychic talents withdrew her from them even more. So, yeah. She was used to being alone.

Tonight, though, it was different. She was smothered by a terribly profound loneliness she had never before experienced. Completely alone in a seedy motel in an unfamiliar town in an unfamiliar state, surrounded by dangerous-looking strangers, she felt a twinge of homesickness. But at the same time, she didn't want to go home. Even if she _did _want to return to Antioch, her mother had made it quite clear that she wasn't welcome there.

There was no one to talk to. No one within in her small circle of family and friends wanted to talk to her. She had failed them. They had failed her. Now she had nobody.

And to make it all worse, her money was running out. It would only be a matter of time before she'd be stuck living in her parked car, with no cash for gas or food or anything else.

However, she had to admit it. She had done this to herself. Dean had warned her over and over that this would happen, but she ignored him. Now she was stuck in a dead-end situation.

She'd been an idiot.

It had all been so different with the Winchesters. Sure, it'd been hard and dangerous and extremely uncomfortable at times, but she had loved every minute of it. She didn't dare use the word 'fun', but she had enjoyed hunting with them.

Honestly? Jennifer missed Dean and Sam.

But what surprised her the most was that she missed them more than she missed anyone else. From the beginning, they had listened to her. Believed her. Understood and related to her. They had cared enough to drag her along with them. They taught her about the supernatural and trained her to fight. And they had simply been there for her when nobody else was.

Jennifer glanced at her cell phone. It rested on the nightstand beneath the shadow of the hideous pink table lamp's pleated shade.

Though he'd promised to do so, Dean hadn't called. Not once. Not that she had really expected him to. But she had certainly hoped he would. She wished he would call right now. She stared at her RAZR, concentrating on it as intensely as she could, secretly hoping whatever psychic ability she possessed would somehow will Dean to call.

Feeling like an idiot, she looked away from her phone and redirected her attention to the notepad in her lap. She was supposed to be making a checklist, a to-do list for the case at hand, but the page was blank. She tried to focus. _Morton Werth. The haunted stockroom. Her next move, which was...?_

Jennifer's eyes drifted back to her Motorola. She longed to hear the ring of her phone. Her polyphonic ringtone, the intro to "Magic Man" by Heart. She wanted so desperately to look down and see _Dean Cell_ on the caller ID screen.

Ugh. She was such an idiot.

_Rest Easy Inn,_

_Dugan, South Carolina._

Less than a mile away from the Holiday Inn Express, Dean sat on his bed in the light of the puny beside lamp, staring at the plaid wallpaper, wondering where his little brother had sneaked out to this time.

Dean held his cell phone in his right hand. He wanted to call someone. He _needed _to call someone. But then again, he didn't. He didn't want to bother Bobby with this mess. He definitely didn't want to discuss it with Ellen or Ash or anybody back at the Roadhouse.

Then there was Jennifer. They hadn't spoken in nearly a month, and he was okay with keeping it that way.

Well, sort of.

Not really.

Dean flipped open his phone and thumbed through his list of contacts. It was an embarrassingly short list. Bobby. Ellen. Ginger- some hot waitress at some diner somewhere that he'd never see again. He could probably go ahead and delete that one.

He stopped when he got to Jennifer. As he stared at the highlighted name, he admitted it to himself: _he missed her_. And for whatever reason, he realized that he wouldn't hate talking to her right now.

His thumb hovered over the little green phone.

He could call her, just for a minute or two. Just to check in. To make sure she's okay. Let her know they're okay. And maybe even have a short, friendly, very short chat.

Dean knew she had to be lonely. He'd been there before. Out on the road, all alone, barely scraping by. That basically summed up the years Sam spent at Stanford when, as usual, Dad wasn't around. He heaved a sigh, realizing that was pretty much where he was right now.

Staring at his cell screen, he knew he should call her. It would be good for both of them. Dean held his thumb over the 'call' button, but he didn't press it.

_Just do it. Just call her, you moron._

He gulped.

_Call her._

Dean couldn't do it. He clapped the phone shut and tossed it onto the bedspread, cursing under his breath as he did so. He sat in silence for a few seconds, thinking about what a chicken he was. Then a sound at the door startled him.

The lock unbolted. The door pushed open. Sam entered the room.

A frown creased Dean's forehead. "Where were you this time?"

Sam immediately picked up on the hostility in his brother's voice, though he chose to ignore it. "I went to get a snack."

"Right." Dean rolled his eyes. "So why didn't you say, 'Hey, man, I'm gonna go get a snack. I'll be right back'?"

"Since when do I have to check with you before I do anything?"

"Since when do you have to be all sneaky about everything?" Dean tossed back.

Sam just stared for a moment, incredulous. "Dude, why are you making such a big deal out of this?"

"Because," Dean breathed. "I know you're hiding something."

"Come on, man-"

"Sam!" Dean rose from the bed, locking his hazel eyes on his brother's matching ones. "_I know_."

The two words forced Sam's breath to snag in his throat. His heart rate doubled. He froze, waiting for Dean to continue.

Dean kept his eyes on Sam. "I don't know exactly when it all started, but something's been going on with you for a while now. You sneak out, in the middle of the night… I don't know where you're going, but I know you're _not _getting snacks. You're _not _taking walks."

Sam grunted in frustration. "You don't know anything."

"That's right, Sam. That's exactly right. I don't know a damn thing anymore."

Sam was silent.

"The last time you acted like this was when you were dreaming about Jess. Is that what this is all about? Are you having nightmares about her again?" Dean didn't give him time to respond. "Or is this something else? Because I can't help but think that this is connected to all that stuff with Yellow Eyes and the psychic children."

Unnerved by the spotlight cast his way, Sam remained quiet.

"I mean, are you having nightmares about Yellow Eyes? Like the other psychics did right before they either kicked it or went dark side?"

"No," Sam responded in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Well what is it, then? Huh?" Dean demanded angrily. "And what was the deal with that B.S. fortune back in Indiana?"

The reference to his card from Madame Zendala, the voodoo mechanical fortune teller, took Sam by surprise. "What?"

"The more I thought about it, the less I bought that crap about the trench-coat-chick at the train station." Dean swallowed hard and stared into his brother's eyes. Slowly, softly, he asked, "That card was about your destiny, wasn't it? The one dad warned me about."

"No, Dean, it wasn't," Sam lied. "Look, man, you're the one with problems. You're turning everything into something that it's not. You're paranoid. And you're so distracted by all this, you can't even focus on the real issue at hand. A man is _dead, _Dean. _Dead. _And we're the only ones who can figure out what happened to him and keep it from happening again."

Now Dean was quiet.

"We've got a case, Dean. A job to do," Sam said firmly. "So, let's quiet arguing and work together to get it done."

Although Dean's instincts screamed that he was right, that there was more to Sam's story than he was being told, he decided to drop it for now. "Fine."

_Kenwood's Department Store._

_The next morning._

It had been a rough night for Jennifer, which resulted in an even worse morning. She had overslept, skipped breakfast, ripped her pants, and lost her keys. Unsurprisingly, she clocked in late and headed to her department with frizzy hair and a halfway made-up face.

Freddie Green was waiting for her by the cash register. "Good morning, Jennifer. I was worried you weren't gonna make it."

"Hey, Freddie. Sorry I'm late." She headed into the stockroom to set down her things. He followed. "It's just been one of those days."

Freddie was his usual smiley self. "Oh, one of those, huh? I know what you mean, girl. I surely, surely do."

Jennifer passed a mirror on her way out and gasped at her reflection. Her naturally curly hair was a horrible mess. Her long, thick waves had tangled into one frizzled heap beyond repair. She ran to her purse, found a black elastic hair band, and pulled the monstrosity into a messy bun.

She blushed when she felt Freddie's eyes on her. "It was windy outside."

"Oh, don't worry about it. You look just fine," he assured her. The two of them walked to the sales floor. "So, Jennifer, I've got some good news. Ms. Hillier just hired two new associates."

Pretending to care, she replied, "Oh, really?"

"Mm-hmm. And one of them will be joining us in men's shoes. Today's his first day. He's here already, actually. Should be heading back this way any second now. He's been in the office filling out paperwork," Freddie said. He chuckled softly. "He seems like quite a character, too. Quite a character, indeed. And lucky for us, he's also had experience in selling shoes. Put in four years at Payless."

"Wow."

Freddie nodded. "Yep. Seems like another wonderful addition to our staff." He looked to his right, and his smile grew bigger. "Oh, here he comes now."

Jennifer followed his gaze. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of the newest Kenwood's employee- Dean Winchester.

* * *

Dean did a double-take when he spotted the new men's shoe saleswoman that would be training with him- Jennifer Bane. What were the odds of that? Especially considering the almost-phone-call he had given her the previous night. It was…strange.

Since Freddie Green was standing beside her, he chose to hide the fact that he knew her. She played along.

"Jennifer, this is Dean Van Zant," Freddie introduced them. "It _is _Van Zant, right?"

Dean smiled, keeping his composure. "Yes, sir."

"Oh, good. I'm not too great with names. Anyway, Dean, this is Jennifer Desmond. She's been with us, for what, three days now?"

"Yep. Three days," she said. "It's nice to meet you, Dean."

He grinned. "Likewise."

They awkwardly shook hands.

An older male shopper stopped to look at a pair of Reebok walking shoes. Freddie noticed him and straightened his brown necktie, prepared to go into salesman mode. "Jennifer, while I'm helping this gentleman, why don't you show Dean around?"

She was happy to oblige. "Of course." She glanced at Dean. "Why don't we start in the stockroom?"

"Sounds great."

She led the way past the display tables, behind the counter, and into the storage room. Once inside, she dropped her polite tone. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking into a case," Dean replied. "What are _you _doing here?"

"The same. The death of Morton Werth."

"Yeah. Us too."

She said nothing for a moment as she processed the shock of running into the Winchesters. She gave him a genuine smile. "It's good to see you, Dean."

He smiled back. "You too."

"You never called."

"Neither did you."

She hesitated before moving on to another topic. "Where's Sam?"

The question caused Dean's lips to stretch into a grin. "The store manager could only hire one more person over here in men's, so Sam's stuck in ladies' shoes."

"Ladies' shoes?"

"Yep."

"That stinks."

"It's kinda funny."

"So," Jennifer said. "What've you got so far? With the case?"

He sighed. "Well, not too much." He told her everything they knew. The article. The trip to the morgue. The other salesman that had died ten years ago, Barry Howe. "That's about it. You been able to dig up anything?"

She glanced toward the door to make sure they were still alone. "No." She sighed. "So far, I've got nothing. Freddie won't talk, and he won't leave me alone for a single minute. I've been here three days, _three flippin' days, _and I keep trying to go over the place with the EMF detector, but he _will not leave_. He just keeps hovering over me."

"That's because you're going about things the wrong way."

"Well, what do you suggest? Holding him at gunpoint 'til he comes clean?"

Dean just shrugged.

Jennifer rolled her eyes. "How would that help? This mall has security, you know. I'd end up fired or arrested or both."

"Not if you did it right."

A second eye roll was her natural response. "Anyway, I think Freddie is up to something. I don't what, but…he's too nice."

"Yeah. I kinda picked up on that."

Jennifer checked the doorway again and lowered her voice. "The other day, he freaked out when a couple of shoe boxes were in the wrong place. It was creepy. More than just major OCD. _And _he said Morton had it coming, because he was a lazy worker who didn't keep the place clean."

"Huh. Sounds like Freddie mighta flipped his lid."

"Yeah. And he's been here for fifteen years. He was here when the first salesman died, too. Barry Howe." She swallowed. "I'm kind of starting to think there's nothing more to this than a psycho killer shoe salesman."

"Well," Dean said, reaching into his suit jacket, "let's check for EMF and find out for sure."

"Wait, what are you doing?" She panicked and knocked his hand away from his coat. He shot her a look of protest. "You can't just pull out the EMF meter now."

"Uh…why not?"

"Freddie will be back here any second to get shoes for that old man."

"Then maybe you should keep an eye out for him." Dean smirked as he pulled out his EMF meter and switched it on.

She frowned as she watched him roam around the stockroom, beeping electromagnetic field reader in hand. "Freddie's leaving in an hour. I'm closing by myself tonight for the first time. We could just wait until then." She glanced at the door one more time. Dean noticed.

"Jennifer, chill out. You gotta learn to live on the edge."

Her forehead wrinkled at the statement. "There's a fine line between 'living on the edge' and being stupid and careless."

"And there's also a fine line between being cautious and being paranoid." He moved farther into the stockroom. "Seriously. What the hell's wrong with you?"

She followed him. "I just don't trust Freddie. That's all."

The deeper into the storage room they went, a noticeable drop in temperature occurred. It grew unnaturally cold. The beeping of the EMF detector grew louder and longer. Dean held up the device with its flashing lights for her to see. "I don't think it's Freddie we gotta worry about."

* * *

In the ladies' shoe department, Sam was seated on a shoe bench, awkwardly placing a pink-cheeked, white-haired woman's right, socked foot on a Brannock foot measuring device.

"Oooh." The old lady giggled. "Your hands are warm."

"Here, just, uh, make sure your heel is all the way against the back of the, uh, the measuring…thing," Sam stuttered, clearly uncomfortable with the task.

"Big hands, too. Such nice, long fingers. Do you play piano?"

"Uh...no." Sam tried to smile, but his lips refused to curve upwards. He focused on the Brannock device to determine the woman's shoe size. "Okay, it, uh, looks like you're about an…eight."

The woman, who was at least three times his age, had no problem smiling. "Oh. Well, I'd say you're a _ten._"

Another attempt at a smile failed miserably. "Thank you?"

She laughed again, clapping her wrinkled hands together in delight. "You're just too cute!"

Sam glanced up and spotted his brother watching from several feet away with a big, stupid grin on his face. Dean gave him a thumb's up.

"Alright, ma'am, you can step off the device now," Sam instructed the woman, ignoring his annoying sibling. His trainer, Lucille, congratulated him on a foot-measuring job well done and took over the sale from there. Relieved, Sam rose from the bench, wishing he had some hand sanitizer.

Dean came to his side, still grinning. "How's the shoe-selling goin' there, Al Bundy?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Bite me."

"Dude." Dean's grin widened. "You'll never guess who I just ran into."

"Judging by that idiotic smile on your face, I'm gonna go with Eva Mendes."

Dean frowned at him. "What idiotic smile?"

Sam sighed. "It's gone now."

"Okay…" Dean blinked. "Anyway, Jennifer's here."

"Jennifer?"

"Yeah. She's working the same case we are. Weird, right?"

Sam's face paled. He gulped. He was quiet for a while before he finally said, "Yeah."

"We went over the stockroom with the EMF meter."

"And?"

"The thing went crazy. Looks like you were right. We may be dealing with a spirit after all," Dean said. "Any leads on who it might be?"

"Maybe." Sam swallowed. "I spoke with Lucille, the lady who's training me today. She's been here at Kenwood's for eleven years, since before the other guy, Barry Howe, was killed. She told me about _another _guy who died before him. A manager. Mr. Ballantine."

"Same details?"

"No, actually. Lucille didn't know exactly what happened, but she knew he wasn't strangled like the other two."

"Then maybe he's our ghost. See what else you can find out."

Sam nodded.

"Oh, and uh," Dean's dumb grin returned. "Good luck with Estelle Getty." He winked. "I think she liked ya."

With a huff and an eye roll, Sam turned away from his brother and got back to work.


	39. 1x8, IV: Living On The Edge

_Kenwood's Department Store._

_That night._

Business was slow.

There was hardly any traffic in Kenwood's, which, according to the seasoned employees, was rare for a Thursday evening. Though everyone else was bummed about the lack of sales, it was good for Dean and Jennifer, who got a chance to sit on shoe benches in the stockroom and talk.

Or, in Dean's case, sit and eat. He'd stocked up on snacks from the vending machine in the break room and was currently finishing off a bag of nacho cheese flavored Doritos.

Jennifer watched as he crunched on the smelly chips, crumpled up the empty bag into a ball, and tossed it to the floor. He started to wipe his cheese-covered fingers on his slacks, but she stopped him. "You'll ruin them."

He glared at her. "I'm gonna wash them." He took a sip of the soda he'd gotten from the break room as well. Swallowed. Belched loudly.

"Attractive."

They sat in silence.

Dean watched her, waiting for her to say something. When after a few minutes she did not, he decided to end the quiet. "So. Whatcha been up to the past month?"

"Oh, uh, you know. Driving, mostly. I worked a job in Texas."

"How'd that go?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Fine."

"Your, quote-unquote, 'stupid psychic crap' lead you to someone you could help?"

She nodded. "An elderly woman with a death omen in her attic."

"Ah."

The silence returned for several seconds.

"What about you and Sam?" she asked.

"We, uh, we worked a couple of jobs here and there. A thought form in Missouri. Couple of vamps up in Michigan." He grabbed his can of soda. "Nothing worth talking about, really."

She stared at him as he upturned the aluminum can and took an extra long drink.

He had to burp again, but he politely held it in this time. "You talk to your mom since you left?"

"No. She hasn't called me, so I haven't called her."

"That's the spirit."

She frowned at him. "It's not like _you _handle things any differently."

"True."

Jennifer leaned against the wall behind her. "Man, it's just so weird that we ran into each other when we did."

Dean glanced at her. "Why?"

"I don't know, it's just…" she trailed off. "I know it's my own fault, but these past few weeks…I've been kinda lonely." She paused. "I'm sure you're just dying to give me your rudest 'I Told You So', but I just want to say…" She peered into his eyes. "It really is nice to see you."

Dean smiled. "Yeah. It's good to see you too."

They shared an extended gaze. A meaningful one that became more meaningful the longer it lasted. Dean quickly broke it. He went for his soda and finished it off. When the can was completely dry, he set it in the floor with the growing pile of snack wrappers he planned to clean up later.

They both heard the faint pitter-patter of footsteps coming from the sales floor.

"Sounds like we've got a customer," Jennifer said, standing to her feet. Feigning enthusiasm, she added, "Let's go sell some shoes."

"Right." He sighed. "Because _that's _why we're here."

"Well, we _are _getting paid for it, Dean."

He reluctantly got up and followed her out of the stockroom to the sales floor. However, no one was anywhere in sight. No one but Avis, another Kenwood's employee, who was propping on the counter over in the suit section, paying them no attention as he worked a crossword puzzle.

Suddenly, a pair of Cole Haan penny loafers fell from the table on which they were displayed.

Jennifer walked over to the fallen shoes, picked them up, and carefully placed them on the empty riser. As soon as she turned her back on the shoes, she heard a clunk from behind.

She pivoted on her heel. The shoes had fallen again. This time, riser and all, as if an invisible hand had knocked them off.

She glanced at Dean, who returned the look.

Then pair of wingtips next to the penny loafers fell to the floor.

Then the two next to those.

Then the next pair.

"What the hell?" Dean said, watching the strange scene.

Display shoes continued to fall from their tables, in a domino effect, dropping to the floor with loud thuds.

"What do we do?" Jennifer asked Dean frantically.

It stopped. As if in reaction to her question, the shoes stopped falling.

Jennifer and Dean looked at each other.

"What just happened?" They recognized Sam's voice and turned to face him. He had walked up at some point during the commotion. He nodded at Jennifer. "Hey."

"Hey, Sam," she said. "I don't know what happened. Shoes started falling all over the place by themselves."

"It was like a scene from _Poltergeist_," Dean said.

Jennifer's blue eyes widened. "Oh, man. I sure hope this mall isn't built on an Indian burial ground. That'd be an impossible salt and burn. We'd have to bulldoze the mall."

Dean winced. "Let's hope not."

"I don't think we have to worry about that," Sam said. "I spoke with a few more people. The manager that died? Mr. Ballantine? He was killed in a freak accident in the men's shoe stockroom fourteen years ago."

"What happened?" Jennifer asked.

Sam took a deep breath and released it. "The home department had gotten in a big shipment of flatware that they didn't have room to store, so Mr. Ballantine let them use some empty shelves in back of the men's shoe stockroom. For some reason, one of the shoe employees had left several shoeboxes lying in the middle of the floor. When Mr. Ballantine came through carrying an armful of sharp silverware..."

"Oh, my gosh," Jennifer gasped. "He tripped and fell on the silverware?"

Sam nodded, cringing. "Impaled by a forty-six piece set of Reed and Barton flatware."

"Oh, my gosh," she repeated, completely horrified by the thought. "He fell on forty-six forks and knives?"

"No, not if you count spoons," Sam pointed out in his matter-of-fact way.

"So, let me guess," Dean said. "The shoe person that left the boxes in the way was Freddie Green?"

"Yep," Sam replied. "After the accident, he became extremely careful about keeping things clean and neat to make sure nobody else got hurt."

"But how come those other guys died? Ballantine's ghost ganked them 'cause they were messy?" Dean wondered aloud. "What is this, The Ghost That Hates Messes or something?"

"It is kinda weak, I know," Sam agreed. "But I guess, after time, maybe Ballantine's spirit got angrier and angrier over the carelessness that had caused his death until he was able to manifest himself as a full-blown poltergeist. And being so angry over his death, he wanted revenge. So he used what was available to him to kill any other employees who were as careless as Freddie had once been."

"Why didn't he just waste Freddie?" Dean asked.

"He probably never knew Freddie was the one who'd left the mess," Jennifer suggested.

Sam nodded. "There's no way he could have known."

"So, that little scene we just had with all the falling shoes?" Dean began. "I probably set Ballantine off when I threw my trash in the floor." He couldn't help but laugh. "Man. Lamest poltergeist ever."

"Dean, two people are dead because of it," Jennifer said harshly.

He sighed. "I know. But it's still lame."

"It's not any lamer than the killer bugs in Oasis Plains," Sam remarked.

Dean nodded. "You're right about that."

"Anyway, nobody that works here knows exactly where Ballantine was buried," Sam informed them. "Apparently, in life, he wasn't a very nice person either. Nobody cared enough to go to his funeral or visit his gravesite. We'll have to wait until we get back to the motel to do some quick research."

"If this _is _a poltergeist," Jennifer started, "we should probably pack the walls with some gris-gris bags or something."

Dean raised his eyebrows, impressed. "Somebody's been doing their homework."

"That's a good idea, Jennifer," Sam told her. "We can put some together as soon as we get outta here."

"Then let's go clock out," Jennifer said.

"Sounds good to me," Dean said.

Sam sighed. "Our shifts don't end for two more hours."

She looked at him, surprised to hear such a sound, responsible statement from the lips of a Winchester. "So? This is a little more important. We can't follow the rules all the time, remember?"

"Look at you being all bad ass," Dean commented, grinning. "Takin' that whole 'living on the edge' thing to heart, I see."

She smiled back. "Oh yeah. Thanks to you, I've turned over a new, rebellious leaf." She quickly got her things together. "Besides, if we hurry with the gris-gris bags, we can be back here to put them in the walls before closing time. No one will even know we were gone."

* * *

While Sam headed to Cedar Lawn Cemetery to start digging Mr. Ballantine's grave, Jennifer and Dean returned to Kenwood's with four homemade mojo bags filled with angelica root, crossroad dirt, and a few other odds and ends. They were cutting it close to nine o'clock, so the two of them hastily worked together to place the bags in the north, south, east, and west corners of the men's shoe stockroom.

"_May I have your attention please? Kenwood's will be closing in ten minutes_," a female voice announced over the store's sound system.

Dean and Jennifer relaxed. All four bags were inside the walls, and two of them were completely covered with a fresh coat of plaster. They had plenty of time to finish the other two.

"You know," Jennifer said, filling the eastern hole in the drywall with putty. "It's a good thing you and Sam are such freaks that you carry things like angelica root around with you all the time."

Dean shrugged his shoulders. "It's always best to be prepared."

"I guess so," she said with a smile.

They were silent as they focused on the task at hand.

After a couple of minutes, Jennifer heaved a loud sigh and said, "I can't stop thinking about how weird it is that we both ended up at the same place. Of all the possible cases across the country, we both picked the same one in the little town of Dugan, South Carolina." She sighed again. "It's just…weird."

"It _is _a pretty friggin' weird coincidence."

She was quiet as she smoothed out the filler material. "Or maybe…it isn't."

Dean turned to look at her from his spot in the western corner. "What do you mean?"

Jennifer thought for a moment, carefully choosing her words. Her thoughts were centered on their matching fortune cards from Madame Zendala. According to the mechanical soothsayer, Dean was her future, and she was his. They were destined to '_unite in love as they faced the dark together_.' Their chance reunion at Kenwood's? It was almost as if a higher power was at work, forcing the fortune to become their reality.

"I don't know." Her voice was soft now. "Maybe we ran into each other for a reason."

A second warning came over the speakers: "_May I have your attention please? Kenwood's will be closing in five minutes._"

Dean decided he was finished with the western hole. He gathered his tools and joined Jennifer on the opposite side of the stockroom. "So, uh, you think something led us here?" He gulped. "So that we'd meet up again?"

She avoided eye contact. "I don't know."

Dean had trouble swallowing the lump in his throat. "You're thinking about that stupid fortune teller's prediction, aren't you?"

Jennifer clumsily dropped the putty knife as he uttered the question. Knowing they were in a place haunted by a vengeful spirit who hated messes, she quickly picked it up.

"I'll take that as a yes," Dean said dryly. "Look, Jennifer, that whole destiny thing is a load of crap."

"You can't really believe that," she countered. "Not now. This can't be a coincidence."

"Oh, I'm sure it can."

"But what if it isn't? What do we do? Are we supposed to just run from it? Avoid each other like the plague?"

In that moment, it occurred to both of them that if greater forces _were _in control of their destiny, if they parted ways now, they would continue to cross paths until they…_united_.

"Because if we do," Jennifer continued quietly, "we'll just keep running into each other. If that's what this is, you know, if something really _is _leading us together and we separate tonight, you might head to some random town in Ohio or somewhere, and my psychic intuition might take me there two days later."

Dean hesitated. "But the only alternative is that we join forces now. That we team up and 'fight the dark together'."

Jennifer swallowed hard. "And that would pretty much make the fortune come true."

They stood in silence for a long while.

"Okay," Jennifer sighed. "We're making this into a big deal when there's probably nothing to it."

"Yeah. We are."

"I'm sorry. I just got carried away."

"Then let's just drop it," Dean said. "We'll go help Sam at the cemetery, then we'll go our separate ways again."

His suggestion disappointed her, but she tried to hide it. "Right."

"_May I have your attention please? Kenwood's is now closed for the evening_."

"Come on," Dean urged her. "Let's get outta here."

_Rest Easy Inn._

After the salting and burning of Mr. Ballantine's corpse was finished and goodbyes had been said, the Winchesters returned to their room at the Rest Easy Inn. Dean sat on his bed, leaning against the faux wood headboard as he polished the handle of one of his many handguns. Sam, as usual, sat at the table in front of his open computer.

Neither of them had spoken or moved for over half an hour, so when Sam closed his laptop, it got Dean's attention.

"Dean," Sam said quietly. "There's something I gotta tell you."

His younger brother's words startled him. He set down his gun and gave Sam his full attention. "What?"

Sam didn't respond for a while. He swallowed. Twitched. Opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "You were right. I _have _been hiding something from you."

Dean waited, expecting the worst.

"I, uh, I didn't give you the full story about why we came here. Why we came to Dugan."

More than a little worried about the response he might receive, Dean asked, "What are you talking about?"

"I had a dream about this town," Sam confessed. "All I saw, in the dream, was the _Dugan City Limit _road sign, but I knew it was important. I looked it up on Google and found only one result: Dugan, South Carolina. Then I came across the article about Morton Werth's death." Sam stood up from his chair and started pacing. "I figured that's why I dreamed about Dugan. Because of the strange details of his death." He paused. "But then when we got here…we ran into Jennifer."

Dean was stunned. He didn't know what to say.

"With her abilities, she's gotta be one of the psychic children." Sam blinked. "Us meeting up with her again? All because of some premonitory dream? That can't be good."

Though perplexed by the situation, Dean wasn't ready to buy the Evil-Jennifer theory. "No. I don't think it's like that."

"Dean, all my dreams have been somehow connected to the yellow-eyed demon."

"Well, this one wasn't."

"Then why is she here? Don't you think it's a pretty big coincidence? What other explanation is there?"

"Look, man, if she really _is _one of the freakin' 'special children', and if Yellow Eyes really _did _lead her here and us here just so we could meet up with each other, why hasn't anything happened? Huh? Why haven't you two had some kinda psychic kid showdown? Or why hasn't another PK shown up? Or hell, even Yellow Eyes himself?"

Sam was quiet as his brother pointed out things he hadn't considered.

"See what I'm saying? It makes no sense for this to be about the demon's 'master plan', whatever the hell it is."

"Then _why _is Jennifer here?" Sam repeated. "Why were we led here, only to run into her?"

"I don't know, Sam. I don't know why we ran into her, okay?" Dean said, exasperated. "Maybe we were led to Dugan to save her. I mean, if we hadn't been here, things would have gone differently with the case. Maybe she would have gotten hurt. Or worse."

Sam didn't seem too convinced when he said, "Maybe."

"Yeah. There's plenty of other reasons." Like Jennifer's fortune theory, though Dean didn't mention it. "So don't get your panties in a wad when we've got no proof one way or another."

Sam sighed as he sank onto the empty bed. He didn't put up a fight. He had no reason to argue, especially when he was still keeping Dean in the dark about the _other _dreams he had been having.

Dean was done bickering as well. What else was there to say? They only knew three things for certain: 1) Sam's dreams had led them to Dugan. 2) Jennifer's psychic intuition had led her there. 3) They had been reunited for _some _reason unknown to them.

Not another word was spoken as they went to bed.

They both had trouble falling asleep.


	40. 1x8, V: Come Out With Me

_Everton Motel,_

_Layman, Oklahoma._

_Two weeks later._

Arguments about Yellow Eyes, Jennifer Bane, and Sam's late night disappearances had been nearly forgotten after another half-month's passing. They'd seen no signs of the yellow-eyed demon. They hadn't heard from Jennifer. Dean hadn't awoken to discover his brother missing.

It was all in the past.

Until Oklahoma.

The Winchesters were in the southwestern part of the state, investigating a lead in the quaint mountain village of Layman. They arrived Wednesday evening, checked into the only motel in town, and set up camp before mapping out their next move.

It was the normal beginning to a normal case.

Then, while retrieving a honey bun from the motel's outdoor vending machine, Dean bumped into Jennifer Bane.

Her presence truly startled him. He _almost _went for the handgun stuck in the waistband of his jeans. But her surprise was as obvious as his. Her gray-blue eyes were as big as golf balls, her pale skin more so than usual. Her face proved that she hadn't planned on seeing him there.

They regarded each other in stupefied silence for what felt like minutes.

Finally, Jennifer said, "Crap."

* * *

"I got here yesterday morning. I found a headline about a dead schoolteacher on the internet," Jennifer told the Winchesters as she paced back and forth across the carpet of their motel room. "The details sounded like a case, so I came here to check it out."

"So, it's just another coincidence?" Sam asked. "Us ending up two doors away from each other in the same motel in the same little town in Oklahoma?"

She sighed, rubbing her forehead. "This is ridiculous."

"Yeah, it is," Dean said. "But we're gonna figure it out."

Sam eyed his brother with disapproval. "Jennifer, would you excuse us for a moment?"

"Yeah." She nodded. "Of course." She headed for the door without another word.

When the door closed behind her and the brothers were alone, Sam turned to Dean. "You think she's telling the truth?"

"Yeah. I think she's just as confused about what's going on as we are," Dean said. He studied Sam's face and was surprised by the traces of suspicion he found. "What, you don't?"

"She's a damn good actress, Dean. You know that."

"Yeah, but-"

"She could be playing us."

"Man, we had the exact same conversation months ago, right after we met her, when you accused her of killing Trevor and Brother Frank. She wasn't lying then, and she's not lying now."

"We don't know that," Sam persisted. "Dean, for all we know, Yellow Eyes came to her in a dream and told her where we are."

Dean glared at him. "For all _I _know, that son of a bitch came to you in _your _dreams and told _you _that _she _was here."

Sam was astounded, offended even, by Dean's blind faith in her. "How can you trust her more than you trust your own brother?"

Dean was taken aback by the question. "What?"

"These past couple of months, you've been so quick to accuse me of lying and keeping secrets, but you believe everything Jennifer tells you."

"Well maybe that's because _Jennifer _isn't the one sneaking out in the middle of the night and making up lies about it."

Sam nearly laughed. "You've got to be kidding."

"Dude, the last time I brought it up, you changed the subject."

"I was honest with you about Dugan. About my dream."

"Yeah, and that was a start in the right direction. But that's _it_, Sam. That's the _only _thing you've told me."

Sam turned away from him.

"Look, man, I'm tired of fighting," Dean said. "If you don't wanna let me in on whatever it is you're hiding, fine." He clenched his jaw. "Just don't be surprised when I don't trust you." With that, Dean left the room, slamming the door behind him.

_Late that night._

_Hours after Dean had returned to the motel room, cooled off from their fight, Sam was lying in bed, on the edge of sleep. The mattress squeaked as he rolled over and glimpsed a pair of bright yellow eyes gleaming in the darkness. _

"_Howdy, Sam," a familiar voice greeted him._

_Sam sat up with a gasp. He glanced over at Dean's bed. His brother was sprawled out beneath the covers, sound asleep. Sam returned his gaze to the demon's blazing golden eyes. "Am I dreaming again?"_

"_You betcha."_

"_Get out of my head," Sam pleaded, "or I swear, I'll rip you apart."_

_Yellow Eyes chuckled. "When you wake up, tiger, you give it your best shot."_

"_Why won't you leave me alone?"_

_The demon stepped forward from the shadows. The faint moonlight that slipped around the edges of the room's lone, curtained window revealed a human form. Just an ordinary-looking man, except for his eyes. "I'm trying to help you, Sam. That's why we're talking. You're the one I'm rooting for."_

"_What's that supposed to mean?"_

"_Welcome to the Miss America pageant, kiddo. This is a competition, and only one of you crazy kids is gonna make it to the final round." Yellow Eyes lowered himself to the edge of Sam's bed and casually crossed his legs. "See, here's the thing. I don't need an army of soldiers. I only need the one. One leader."_

"_That's why you've been turning us all against each other?"_

"_You catch on quick, Sambo. Ava Wilson, Max Miller, Gracie-what's-her-face and Jen's pal Trevor? All the others? They weren't strong enough. That's why they already flamed out. I'm looking for the best and brightest of your generation."_

"_My generation?" Sam swallowed hard. "You mean…there's _other _generations?"_

_The demon was quiet for a second. "Yes. But let's just worry about yours right now. Like I said, that's why I'm here. To help you move ahead of the competition, because I think you're the one." He pointed at Sam. "I think you're my leader."_

"_And just what am I supposed to lead?"_

_Yellow Eyes grinned. "Nice try. But I'm not one for spoilers. You'll just have to wait for the sequel to find out."_

_Sam pursed his lips._

"_We need to focus on the here and now," the demon said, lowering his voice. His thin lips twisted into an unsettling smile. "I've gotta job for you to do, Sammy."_

_Sam felt his stomach clench. "Kill Jennifer. That's it, isn't it? You led us all here because you want me to kill Jennifer?"_

_The demon just stared at him. "Uh…no." He shook his head with a sigh. "Honestly, Sam, I'm disappointed to see you so off the mark. Sweet little Jenny has nothing to do with this. She's not one of you super-special kiddies."_

"_But what about her abilities? And why do you keep leading us together?"_

"_Jennifer _does _have a part to play," the demon revealed cryptically. "But it's not of importance. Not now, anyway, so you should stop worrying about it. This is about you and the other psychics."_

_Sam strained to pull himself out of the dream. He knew the demon was about to tell him to kill another psychic, just as he had the others, and he had to wake up before that happened. If he never received the instructions, he could not be held accountable for not following them. _

"_Yes, Sam. The others. There's more left, and we've gotta do something about that."_

_He had to wake up._

"_So, listen up, Sammy."_

_Wake up. _

"_You listening?"_

_Wake up, wake up, wake up!_

Sam awoke and leapt out of bed, shaking with fear. The motel room was empty. No yellow-eyed demon lurking in the corner. The only occupants were Dean, who was still asleep, and himself.

He tiptoed to the bathroom. Bent over the sink, turned on the faucet, and splashed his face with cold water. Stared at his pathetic reflection.

_What now?_

Sam could not, _would not_, go back to sleep.

_Would the nightmares _ever _stop?_

He exited the bathroom and shivered as he reentered the sleeping area, the setting of his latest dream. He couldn't stay there.

Sam had to leave, just for a while.

* * *

A noise from the upper level of the motel roused Dean from his light slumber. He was surprised to find himself still surrounded by darkness. It felt like he'd been lying on that uncomfortable rock of a mattress forever.

He sat up with a yawn and glanced at the time on his cell phone. Only ten minutes past one.

Dean strained his eyes to look at Sam's bed. It had been a habit of his since he was a young kid, always checking to make sure his little brother was safe. That habit faded over the years as Sam grew up and could take care of himself, but these past couple of months, after Sam's series of disappearances, Dean found himself recommitting himself to the old routine.

And tonight, he once again discovered an empty bed.

* * *

_Knock, knock, knock!_

Dean rapped on the door to Jennifer's motel room. Seconds later, he heard the lock disengage from the other side. The door jerked open, revealing a pony-tailed, makeup-less Jennifer in loose-fitting loungewear.

"Dean," she said, feeling a tad self-conscious about her appearance. "Hey."

"Hey. Sorry to bother you. Hope I didn't wake you up."

"You didn't. I haven't even gone to bed yet. I've been up trying to look over this case."

He glanced behind her. The lamp on the nightstand was on. The only bed in the room was littered with a stream of open books on the paranormal, a legal pad, a spiral-bound notebook or two, a recent copy of _The Layman Gazette_, and her Toshiba laptop. "I see that."

Wondering why Dean Winchester was standing in her doorway at one in the morning, she asked, "Is something wrong?"

"No." He hesitated before continuing. "No, not really. I was just wondering if you'd seen Sam."

Confusion creased her forehead. "Sam? I haven't seen him since we talked earlier. He isn't in your room?"

Dean shook his head.

"Did you try calling his cell?"

"Nah. I'm sure he's fine." With a bit of contempt in his voice, he added, "He, uh, he does this sometimes."

Jennifer picked up on his disdain and wasn't sure how to respond to it.

"Anyway," Dean sighed. "I just thought he might be over here with you, you know, reading poetry…or whatever." He awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. "Guess I should go back to my room and, uh, try to catch some Z's. Not that that's gonna happen…"

After a long pause, she asked in a soft voice, "Do you wanna come inside for a little while?"

His brows arched.

"To talk about the case and stuff," she clarified quickly, knowing his mind had probably wandered off into the gutter at her proposition.

"Right," he said. "Well, since we're both working the same job, we might as well do it together, I guess."

She stepped aside to allow him entrance. He reluctantly crossed the threshold.

Sam's warnings rang in his head: _She's a damn good actress. She could be playing us. For all we know, Yellow Eyes came to her in a dream and told her where we are._

Technically, that was all true. Maybe Jennifer _had _come to Oklahoma because Yellow Eyes told her to. Maybe she knew where Sam was at this very moment because she'd already followed the demon's directions and killed him, chopped up his corpse in the bathtub, and scattered his tiny pieces in the woods behind the motel.

Perhaps Dean was walking into a trap right now. Maybe she'd set up everything to _look _like she was busily working on the case, when in reality, it was all an elaborate ruse to lure him inside so she could end him as well.

"You want something to eat?" Jennifer interrupted his thoughts. "I've got some Little Debbies and a bag of cheese puffs."

As he regarded the young woman before him, Dean felt like a fool for doubting her. She was one of the nicest people he'd ever known. Definitely one of the most determined, passionate, and genuine. He found it incredibly easy to trust her. She was extending a chocolate Zebra Cake his way while wearing a baggy college t-shirt, Superman pajama pants, and fuzzy pink house slippers, for Pete's sake.

There was no way in freaking Hades that Jennifer Bane was evil.

Dean took the plastic-wrapped snack cake from her. "Thanks."

She opened up the motel's ancient mini-fridge and removed two cans of Diet Dr. Pepper. "It's all I've got."

"Fine with me."

He thanked her again for the refreshments as they headed toward the bed. She resumed her seat at the headboard, and Dean, to avoid awkwardness, planted himself _all _the way at the footboard.

Jennifer popped opened her soda with a snap. "So. This case."

"Yeah."

She blankly stared at her collection of books. Glanced over her notes. Scanned her to-do list for the job. "I, uh, I'm not sure where to start."

"Okay," Dean said, munching on his Little Debbie. "How about we start with the dead guy? What have you found out so far?"

She sighed and read her notes. "Mark Griffin, forty-two. A history teacher, devoted husband, father of two. His mutilated body was found in his garage."

"What else?"

Jennifer said nothing. Took a sip of Diet Dr. Pepper.

"That's all you got?" Dean asked.

She frowned. "Are we just gonna act like nothing happened?"

"Huh?"

"Running into each other again, fulfilling our destiny, the fortune teller's prediction? Are we _not _gonna talk about it?"

Dean shrugged. "I'm down with that."

"Dean!"

He drew in a deep breath. "You really wanna talk about it?"

She nodded.

"Alright. Then let's talk." He set aside the Zebra Cake and got down to business. "We met up again in the most random of all random places, it's damn freaky, and I'm gonna step out on a limb here and say it's probably not a coincidence."

She listened, waiting for more.

"But that doesn't mean we're _fulfilling our destiny_," Dean said. "For the last time, forget about the fortune. We're not gonna let some psychic mannequin control our lives."

"I don't think the mannequin is the one doing the controlling," she commented quietly.

He glared at her. "The point is, nobody chooses our destiny except us. I don't know why we're being led together. I don't. But honestly...is it such a bad thing?" He paused, surprised by his own words. "I mean, I know you're lonely. Hell, I know I am." He wet his lips. "Sam…the way he's been acting lately…" His face tensed. "I don't even know if I can trust him anymore. He's sneaking out, keeping things from me… We haven't even talked about this case because we've been too busy fighting." Another pause. "We can't work together like that. We're not a team anymore."

Jennifer continued to sit quietly, giving him her undivided attention.

"Now, like I said, I don't know exactly what's going on, but we're all a part of something. This thing with you and me, all the crap between me and Sam, the stuff with the yellow-eyed demon and the psychic children…it's all leading up to something. I can feel it. Something big and bad is on its way, and I don't wanna face it alone." He stared into her eyes. "And trust me, you don't want to either."

She swallowed. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying we team up."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." His voice was firm, unwavering. "We make a good team. Screw Madame Zendala and the damn fortune." He gulped. "I need you, Jennifer."

She nodded her consent. "Okay," she said. "Then let's do it. Let's stick together."


	41. 1x9, I: The Visit

A/N: So...I kinda sorta decided to do a Christmas special. I had to. I couldn't help myself. I'll admit it's a bit cliche, however, I can assure you there will be no cheesy Christmas miracles, kisses under the mistletoe, or "Look, Dean, it's snowing!" moments. Anyway, I hope you all have a merry Christmas and a happy holiday season. And if you'd like to give me a gift, simply continue to read and review! ;) Thanks, guys!

* * *

**"Let Peace On Earth Begin With Me"**

**

* * *

  
**

_Elk Ridge Motel,_

_Beason, Wyoming._

_Christmas Eve._

Sam was in the deepest stage of sleep when the voice invaded his dreams.

"_Sam."_

A female voice. A soft, beautiful one. One he immediately recognized.

"_Sam, wake up."_

He felt himself drifting toward the voice, out of his slumber, into full consciousness. His eyelids fluttered open. He glanced up to find the origin of the voice.

Jess.

Beside him, on the edge of the bed, clothed in a flowing white gown, sat his deceased girlfriend, Jessica Lee Moore.

"Hey, Sam," she said, her voice and smile equally gentle.

"You're not Jess," Sam whispered. He swallowed hard. Closed his eyes. "This is just another dream."

She reached forward and touched his forearm. Her hand was warm. "No. You're not dreaming this time. This is real."

"No, it's not. Get out of my head."

"Then try to wake up, Sam. Try to pull yourself out of this one."

Sam did. He begged himself to wake up, just as he had the last few times the yellow-eyed demon had appeared to him. And until now, it had always worked.

This time, nothing happened.

He blinked a couple of times. Jess was still there, her long, golden ringlets shimmering ethereally in the darkness. "This is real," she repeated.

Sam shook his head, staring at her. "How?"

"There isn't enough time to discuss the technicalities," she told him. "Just listen to me. I'm here for a reason."

Given his recent experiences with Yellow Eyes, he wasn't too enthused to hear her purpose for being there. This was obviously just the demon's latest attempt at torturing him. Definitely the most creative so far. "Oh, really? And what's that?"

"I came here to warn you, Sam, so you can have a chance of escaping your destiny."

Sam was confused. "What do you mean?"

"You'll find out soon," Jess replied. "Very soon." She paused for a moment. "Tonight, you're going to be visited by three spirits."

His forehead crinkled. "What? Are you kidding?"

"Sam." Her voice was barely more than whisper. She lifted her hand from his arm and caressed his cheek. "This may be your only hope. What happens tonight can pull you from the path you're on."

"Jess, what-"

"Listen to what they tell you, Sam. Look closely at what they show you."

"But-"

She was gone.

And so was the motel room.

Somehow, the bed, the walls, the floor, every part of his room at the Elk Ridge Motel had vanished, and Sam found himself standing alone, outside, in the darkness, beneath the sprawling bare branches of a giant oak tree.

He knew that tree.

His eyes darted around, taking in his new surroundings as he tried to figure out where he was.

A quiet, suburban street.

In someone's snow-covered front yard.

Then he saw the house. To anyone else, it would have been an average, all-American, two-story dwelling left over from the seventies.

But to Sam, it was home.

He was in Lawrence, standing outside the place where it had all began.


	42. 1x9, II: The First Of The Three Spirits

_Old Winchester Residence,_

_Lawrence, Kansas._

Sam stood motionless on the blanket of snow in front of his old house, staring at the two-story edifice and wondering how in the world he'd gotten there.

"We're here, Sam," a man said from behind. "Back at the beginning."

Sam turned in the direction of the voice and was shocked to discover Pastor Jim Murphy, a family friend and fellow hunter who had been killed in his parish over a year ago by a demon-possessed girl. Pastor Jim stood to Sam's left, clerical collar and all, his hands neatly clasped in front of him.

"Pastor Jim?" Sam couldn't believe it. "What's going on? Why are we here?"

Calmly, Pastor Jim said, "I'm here to show you two Christmases of your past."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "So, what, you're my own Ghost of Christmas Past? _Really_?" He forced his eyes shut and rubbed his temples. "What did I eat last night?"

Pastor Jim ignored him. "Come with me."

The white layer of flakes crunched under Sam's feet as he followed Pastor Jim across the lawn, up to the porch, then through the front door. Literally. _Through _the closed wooden door.

"I _am _dreaming," Sam confirmed aloud, after considering his ability to move effortlessly through solid objects.

"No, I'm afraid you're wide awake, Sam," Pastor Jim insisted.

"That's impossible. I just walked through-"

The preacher peered into his eyes. "_Nothing _is impossible. Shouldn't you, of all people, know that by now?" He turned away. "Look around, Sam. Look where we are."

Sam did as he was told, and was surprised by what he found.

They were in the living room of his old house. A cozy fire blazed in the fireplace beneath a mantel draped with lighted garland and gold ribbon. More garland wound around the handrail of the stairway leading to the second floor. A ceramic nativity set rested on a prominent shelf. A magnificent seven-foot Colorado spruce covered in glowing multi-colored lights stood in front of the window, decked from top to bottom with ornaments: red and gold balls, plastic candy canes, tiny wooden nutcrackers, a star here, an angel there. And beneath the tree was a mountain of beautifully wrapped gifts, begging to be opened.

"It's Christmas Eve, 1982," Pastor Jim informed him.

Sam did not respond. He gaped at the room, wide-eyed, amazed by the perfect, homey scene. A scene he'd never known.

Just then, a little boy clad in red, snowman-printed, footed pajamas dashed into the room, three empty Christmas stockings in hand. Sam recognized the kid immediately- the miniature, three-year-old version of Dean.

"He can't see us," Pastor Jim explained as Dean walked past them without noticing their presence. "We're inside a replay of the past."

They watched as a clean-shaven John Winchester entered the room, wearing green flannel pants and a gray sweatshirt with the words _U.S. Marine Corps _stitched across the front. In his hands, he carried a set of metal snowflake stocking holders. He smiled as he watched his son struggling to find a way to attach the stockings to the fireplace. "Wait a minute, Dean. These have to go on the mantel first."

Dean stepped aside. "Oh."

"See here?" John placed the three holders on the mantel. "The stockings hang on these little hooks."

"I wanna do it," Dean said, standing on his tiptoes.

Smiling, John bent down. "Okay. Come here." He lifted the child into his arms and helped him place a bright red stocking on the first hanger. "There's one for Mommy."

"And here's one for you, Daddy," Dean said excitedly, sliding a green velvet stocking onto the hook. He grinned big as he hung the last one. "And one for me!"

"There you go." John gave him a squeeze. "Good job, buddy."

"Next Christmas we'll have one more for Baby Sammy."

"That's right. We sure will."

"I want his to be red, just like mine. And he'll get lots of presents."

John chuckled. "Oh yeah? What kinda presents?"

"I don't know." Dean shrugged. "Baby stuff."

That got another laugh from John.

"Those stockings look great, you two," Mary told them, beaming as she joined them by the fireplace.

"Daddy helped me put them up," Dean told her proudly.

John slipped an arm around his pregnant wife. "Now we're all ready for Santa," he said.

"No, Daddy!" Dean argued. "We didn't do cookies!"

"Oh!" John winked at Mary. "Thank goodness you remembered! We couldn't forget the cookies."

"Your dad's right," Mary said. "We better head to the kitchen and get to work."

Dean's grin doubled in size. "Yeah! I like makin' cookies. Next Christmas, can Sammy help?"

"Well, I'm sure he'll help _eat _them," John said with a smile.

Pastor Jim and Sam watched in silence as the family made their way into the kitchen, smiling and laughing as they went.

"It's strange how we make plans," Pastor Jim finally said. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his black slacks. "How we talk of next year. Plan for what's to come. When in reality, we have no promise of tomorrow."

The cheerful living room faded into darkness.

*

A shadowy motel room came into view, but it wasn't the motel room Sam had been taken from in Beason, Wyoming. This place was unfamiliar- a drab suite with one king-sized bed, dark wood paneling, and worn shag carpet the color of pea soup.

Though no lights in the room were on, ample sunlight filtered through the vinyl window shade to give Sam and Pastor Jim a clear view of the scene before them.

A two-foot tall plastic Christmas tree sat crookedly on top of the television set, scantily decorated with half a dozen cheap ornaments. Propped against the retro mini-fridge were two red plush stockings- filled with junk food- and a pile of sports equipment- a leather baseball glove, a bat, baseballs, a soccer ball, a football, and more.

John Winchester slouched in a side chair in the corner, his stubbly chin planted in his hands as his tired, empty eyes guarded the bed where four-year-old Dean slept, snuggled close to seven-month-old Sam.

"Christmas morning, 1983," Pastor Jim told the grown-up Sam standing beside him.

A lump grew in Sam's throat as he studied his father's countenance. His vacant gaze. The sadness, loneliness, and anger he contained as he watched over his sleeping boys.

"Right after your mother's death, the three of you moved in with Mike Guenther and his wife," Pastor Jim said, referring to the mechanic with whom John had co-owned a garage in Lawrence. "But two days before Christmas, your dad took you and your brother and ran, without even saying goodbye to the Guenthers. He had to get away from everyone and everything that reminded him of the past." He glanced around the room. "He ended up here."

They watched as John heaved a sigh and pushed himself up from the chair. He dragged himself across the room. Stopped at the bed. Tried his best to muster up a smile. "Rise and shine, boys," John said, gently shaking Dean. "It's Christmas."

Slowly, both the boys' eyelids parted. Their groggy little eyes stared up at him.

John kept his smile and tousled their hair. "Wake up, sleepyheads. It's Christmas morning. Santa came."

Baby Sam made a few unintelligible gurgling noises as John cradled him, but Dean was silent as he sat up. He just sat in bed, motionless, staring at the sheets.

"Come on, Dean," John urged him softly. "Don't you wanna see what Santa brought you?"

Dean shook his head.

John swallowed. "I think there's a baseball down there. And a brand new glove."

The four-year-old lifted his hazel eyes to meet his father's. "I want Mommy to be here."

That was it. John's eyes filled with tears he thought were all used up. He grabbed Dean, pulled him to his side, and wrapped his free arm around him. "I do too, son," he said, his voice faltering. He held his boys tight against him. Clamped his eyes shut as the tears fell. "I do too."

Pastor Jim sighed. "Your first Christmas, Sam."

Sam gulped.

"Such a sad time. Just a month after your mother's passing," Pastor Jim said. "John tried- he tried so hard- to make that first Christmas as normal and special as he could for you and your brother. But he couldn't bring your mom back."

Sam struggled to find his voice. "Why…why are you showing me this?"

"I want you to see, Sam, how things can change. Just one year before, the same family, _your _family, was laughing together, hanging stockings by the fire together, making snowman-shaped cookies for Santa together." Pastor Jim paused, his eyes glassy with tears as he beheld John huddled with his children, weeping. "And one short year later… it's come to this."

"What are you getting at?" Sam asked.

Pastor Jim stared at him. "What changed these two scenarios, Sam?" Before Sam could speak, Jim answered his own question. "_You _did."

Sam clenched his jaw. "Me?"

"I'm not saying it was your fault, Sam. You can't be blamed for what happened to your mother," Pastor Jim clarified. "But this is still about you. The Demon didn't come into your house that night for Mary. It came for _you_."

"What?"

Pastor Jim thought for a moment. "Maybe we should go back a bit farther."

The motel room disappeared.

They were suddenly in Sam's nursery.

*

Six-month-old Sam kicked his arms and legs and cried out with fear as a dark figure leaned over his crib.

Mary, dressed in a white cotton nightgown, appeared in the doorway, wiping the sleep from her eyes. "John?" she asked the figure, squinting in the darkness. "Is he hungry?"

The figure, a man's form, lifted a finger to his lips. "Shh."

Mary shrugged. "Okay." She left the room.

Adult Sam turned to Pastor Jim, his eyes full of questions. And fear. "Mom! She-"

"Just watch," the preacher said.

The dark stranger, the demon, raised his arms above the crib and held them over Baby Sam's face. He brought his right hand to his left wrist. Used his own thumbnail to slice into his radial artery.

One drop of the demon's blood fell to Sam's lips.

Then another.

"What the hell is he doing to me?" Sam demanded an answer from Pastor Jim. "Does this mean I have _demon blood _in me?"

Pastor Jim's eyes dropped to the nursery floor.

"_Does it?_"

Mary rushed into the nursery, panting for air. The figure turned to face her. The demon's eyes flashed yellow.

She gasped. "It's _you_."

Sam looked at Pastor Jim. "She knew Yellow Eyes?"

Mary took a step toward the demon, but he thrust his arm in her direction, using his powers to pin her against the wall.

"No!" Sam cried out hopelessly. "Mom!"

Before the rest of the scene played out, the walls of the nursery transformed into those of the Elk Ridge Motel in Beason, Wyoming.

*

Sam was back where he'd started. Pastor Jim remained by his side. Sam tried to speak, but nothing came out in a way that made sense.

"You needed to see it for yourself," Pastor Jim said. "It was never about your mom; it was about you. It's always been about you, Sam. The demon came only to taint you with his blood. But when your mother walked in…"

"Why? Why did he have to…poison me?" Sam questioned him.

Pastor Jim's expression was solemn when he replied, "It's all part of his plan for you."

Sam shook his head, unwilling to believe what he'd just seen. "No." He turned away from the pastor and stared at the wall, his thoughts racing. After a few seconds, he whipped back around. "It can't-"

He stopped mid-sentence. Pastor Jim was gone.

Confused, more confused than ever before, Sam plopped down onto his bed and tried to gather his thoughts. He was back in his motel room, back in 2007, with no Jess or Pastor Jim or Mary or John or younger versions of his brother…

His brother.

Sam glanced over at Dean's bed, where he had been sleeping soundly before Sam had magically teleported to the year 1982.

Dean's bed was empty.

The bathroom door was open, and the light was off.

No Dean. Anywhere.

Sam rose to his feet to check things out. He wandered into the bathroom, flipped on the light, and made sure Dean wasn't lying unconscious in the floor after having fallen during a midnight trip to the toilet in which he'd been too lazy to turn on the light.

Nope. Still no Dean.

Sam turned off the light as he exited the bathroom.

Then he found Andy Gallagher sitting by the window, alive and breathing.


	43. 1x9, III: The Present

_Elk Ridge Motel,_

_Beason, Wyoming._

"_Andy?_"

Andy Gallagher waved awkwardly at Sam. "Uh, hi, I guess?"

"I thought you were dead," Sam said.

"I-I am."

"But-"

"Really, Sam? You're surprised? Why? You gotta know _dead _doesn't really mean anything." Andy scratched his forehead. "Anyway, I'm kinda like…a ghost."

Sam's eyebrows arched.

"I'm not here to, like, haunt you or anything," Andy told him. "I'm just, uh, well, I guess I'm sorta like, The Ghost of Christmas Present, or whatever."

"_Seriously?_" Sam blinked. He blinked a couple of times to make sure he was still awake. "What the hell's going on, Andy?"

Andy shrugged his shoulders timidly. "I dunno, Sam. But I'm here 'cause I've gotta show you something."

"Who sent you?"

Andy frowned. "What? Nobody sent me."

"Was it the demon? Is this whole Dickens-style time-traveling thing a part of his plan for me?"

"Uh…I don't think so?" Andy began wringing his hands nervously. "I really, honestly, don't know, Sam. I'm just here to show you where your brother is."

Sam appeared surprised. "Dean?"

"Well…yeah…unless you've got another one I don't know about."

Sam swallowed hard, almost afraid to ask. "Where is he?"

Andy twisted around and shuffled to the door. "Come with me."

He led the way out of the motel room, into the freezing night air, and stopped at the room next door.

"This is Jennifer's room," Sam observed.

"Well, that's where Dean is. I was a little freaked by that at first, too. Not sure what kinda _Penthouse _stuff we might be walking in on, knowing your brother, you know?"

Sam wrinkled his nose. "Yeah."

"But don't worry. They're keeping it G-rated in there."

Just as before with Pastor Jim, Andy and Sam glided _through _the closed door. On the opposite side, they found Jennifer, who was sporting a gray hoodie and Superman pajama pants, and Dean, who was wearing his usual layers plus a brown leather coat and holding a carton of eggnog, standing near the door.

Andy nudged Sam with his elbow. "See? G-rated."

They watched as Dean, completely oblivious to Sam and Andy's presence, extended the eggnog to Jennifer with a grin. "I come bearing gifts."

She raised her eyebrows. "Eggnog?"

"Picked it up at the gas station next door," Dean said. "It _is _Christmas Eve. Seeing how you're away from your family and all for the holidays, I, uh, I thought we might could have a little celebration of our own."

"That was really sweet of you, Dean."

"The eggnog is, uh, non-alcoholic. You don't really seem like the boozy type."

She smiled as she took the carton from him. "Thanks. Wanna open it up now?"

Dean shrugged. "Sure."

"Okay. Sit down," Jennifer invited him as she grabbed a couple of the motel's complimentary plastic cups.

"I, uh, I hope you don't mind me coming over so late," Dean said. He scooted a chair away from the table and planted himself in it. "I saw your light on and thought I'd come spread a little Christmas cheer."

She laughed at his sarcasm. "I'm glad you did." She opened the carton and filled the cups with the thick, festive liquid. She handed him one, took the other for herself, and sat down in the empty chair across from him.

Dean raised his cup. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas to you," she said, lifting her cup to his.

They bumped drinks and took simultaneous sips.

"Not bad," Dean approved. He set his cup on the table and looked at her. "I'll bet your family back home is tucked all snug in their beds, dreaming about the big dinner and pile of presents that's waiting for them tomorrow."

"Yeah. I'm sure they are."

"You wish you were there?"

She stared at her eggnog. "Not really. Family Christmases with my family aren't all that great. Everyone, all my aunts and uncles and obnoxious little cousins, they all go to my grandmother's tiny little house out in the country. And my grandmother…she's, uh, well, she's…different. Not exactly the rosy-cheeked, apple-pie-baking type."

"I see."

"Anyway," Jennifer said. "I know _this _would seem like a sucky Christmas to most people, but it's just fine with me." She smiled at him. "I don't really know of anywhere else I'd rather be."

After a few seconds, Dean smiled back. "I guess I don't either."

The room went silent as the two of them sipped eggnog, enjoying each other's company.

"So, you said you saw my light on," Jennifer said. "What were you doing out tonight in the first place?"

Dean's eyes dropped to the creamy beverage in his cup. He didn't say anything for a while. "I, uh, I woke up, and Sam was gone."

Jennifer swallowed. "Again?"

"I don't know where the hell he is, and I…" He kept his eyes on the cup. "I came over here, hoping you were still up. I guess 'cause I just needed someone to talk to."

She bit her lip. "Sam still won't open up?"

"No. He barely even talks now. He's been out three times this week, and those are just the times I wake up and _find _him gone. Who knows how many times he slips out without me even knowing about it." Dean looked up at her. "I don't know what to do, Jennifer."

"You don't have any idea where he's going?"

"No. He always says he's taking walks and crap like that."

"Maybe he's telling the truth."

Dean frowned. "No. I know my brother. He's hiding something."

Jennifer said nothing.

"And all I can think about…is what Dad told me," Dean said quietly. "About Sam. And what he's supposed to become-"

"Dean, this is Sam we're talking about."

"I know! Don't you think that's why I'm so damn worried? He's my little brother, Jennifer. Dad said I'd either have to save him…or kill him. And so far, I haven't saved him from anything. Hell, I don't even know what I'm supposed to be saving him from!"

She didn't know what to say.

"What if it's too late? What if Sam's already turning into some kinda monster, and it's my fault, 'cause I didn't stop it?"

"It's not too late."

"Well, what can I do? Huh? Tell me, please, because I'm at a loss here."

Jennifer was silent again.

"Can't you flip on your psychic mojo and find him? Isn't that one of your freakin' abilities? Concentrate on Sam and find out where he is."

"It doesn't always work, Dean-"

"_Try_, dammit!"

A frown crinkled her forehead. "If you're gonna talk to me like that, you can go find him yourself."

Her bluntness caught him off-guard. He glanced down at the table top. "I'm sorry."

"I know. You're just worried about your brother."

He sighed. "Yeah."

Now she sighed. "I'll try to find him. But like I said, sometimes it doesn't work."

"It's worth a shot."

She nodded and said nothing else for a several seconds. Seconds turned into minutes. Finally, she said, "Well, it didn't work."

Dean frowned, a bit under-whelmed by the lack of theatrics. "That was it? No conjuring spirits or cross-legged meditation?"

"I just concentrated. That's all I know to do. I'll let you know if something comes to me, but right now, I've got nothing," she said. "I'm sorry."

Dean leaned back in his chair. He sighed again. "I know, I just _know_, that all this comes down to the yellow-eyed demon."

"I'm afraid so, too," she said. "This is big stuff, Dean. Maybe you should call someone for help. Bobby, maybe."

"No. I know what Bobby's gonna say."

"What?"

"That we can straighten this whole thing out right now if me and Sam will quit fighting and talk to each other. That's what he'll tell us."

"Maybe because it's true."

"Oh, I know it's true. But there's nothin' I can do about it. _Sam's _the one holding back. I've tried, believe me, I've tried, over and over again, to talk to him. I've let him know I wanna hear what he has to say, but _he _just won't-"

"Okay, let me say something. Don't get mad when I tell you this," her face flushed a pale pink as she continued, "but these cheap motels have really thin walls, and sometimes, I can hear you two arguing."

Dean appeared a bit embarrassed himself.

"And I guess it's not really my place to say anything, but uh…when you argue with Sam…you're kind of accusatory. And domineering. And aggressive. You always somehow turn everything into an attack."

"Well, _this _kinda seems like an attack right now."

Jennifer exhaled loudly. "You're defensive, too."

Dean furrowed his brow.

"Maybe you should try a different approach if you want Sam to open up to you. He's not gonna trust you with his secrets if you don't trust him to begin with."

"I know," Dean said. "I _want _to trust him. He's just making it so freakin' difficult."

The dialogue between Jennifer and Dean came to a halt as the scene before Andy Gallagher and Sam froze like a paused movie.

Andy turned to Sam. "I think we can go now."

*

"Dean told her about what Dad said?" Sam angrily asked Andy as they stood in the Winchesters' empty motel room. "Why does he tell her so much?"

"Uh…maybe because when you're not around, Dean has no one else?" Andy said. He reached into a pocket of his brown zippered hoodie and removed a Snickers bar. "Didn't you hear what he said? He wakes up in the middle of the night to take a leak, and bam! He discovers your empty bed, he doesn't know where you are because you didn't tell him, and Jennifer's right next door, there for him when _you _aren't."

Sam gulped.

"I mean, think about it, man. Can you _really _blame him for running to her? For not trusting you?" Andy unwrapped the candy bar and took a bite. "I know you heard him. He _wants _to trust you. If you'd just stop acting all sneaky and weird and stuff, you two could work things out."

Sam shifted his gaze to the floor.

"I'm just sayin'." Andy took another bite of his snack. "Dean cares about you. He wants you to talk to him. He wants to help you. You don't have to carry this burden alone."

Sam kept his eyes on the carpet, considering everything that had happened to him- Jessica as Jacob Marley. Pastor Jim, The Ghost of Christmas Past. Now Andy Gallagher as The Ghost of Christmas Present…

It was ridiculous.

Though he wanted to believe he was lying in his bed, dreaming this whole thing, he knew otherwise. He was very much awake. Experiencing some kind of altered reality.

And Sam only knew of one creature that had the ability to create alternate realities out of thin air.

A trickster.

It fit perfectly. Forcing Sam to live out his own version of _A Christmas Carol _was right up a trickster's alley. As he watched 'Andy Gallagher' chomping away on a Snickers bar, he became positive of his theory's accuracy.

Sam grabbed Andy by the neck of his hoodie and slammed him against the wall. "You're not Andy," Sam breathed. "I know who you are. Or I guess I should I say _what_."

Andy raised his hands in the air defenselessly. "Whoa, easy, man, what are you talking about?"

"There's only one creature powerful enough to do what you're doing," Sam went on. "Making reality out of nothing. Altering time, sending me into the past."

"Oh, come on, dude-"

"I _know _what you are," Sam raised his voice. "I've killed one of your kind before."

Andy's features suddenly transformed into the familiar long nose and beady eyes of the Trickster they had supposedly killed a year ago. "Actually," the Trickster said with a mischievous smile, "you didn't."


	44. 1x9, IV: Welcome To The Future

Sam stared at the Trickster, surprised, as he tried to figure out exactly what was going on. "You're not dead?"

"Obviously, no," the Trickster replied. "I'm alive and kickin'. It's kinda part of the whole 'immortal' thing."

Sam swallowed. "What are you doing here? To me? Is this part of some attempt at revenge for what we did to you?"

"Revenge?" The Trickster's eyebrows jumped up. He laughed. "Please. You and your brother haven't done anything to me. Although you did hurt my feelings a little when you tried to kill me with that wooden stake. But other than that…I sorta like you two. In fact, that's why I'm here."

"That doesn't make sense."

"Well, genius, that's because you haven't got the full story. There's still one more thing you need to see."

Sam frowned. "What? The future?"

"Bingo!" The Trickster smiled. "And before you even ask, Sam, 'cause I know it's coming, the answer is _yes_. Yes, this is all real. Everything you've seen is 100% legit. You're _not _dreaming. I _did not _make all this stuff up. Winding back the clock _and _moving it forward just so happen to be two of my many talents. No flux capacitor necessary. I simply showed you a replay of what _actually _happened in '82 and '83. As we speak, Dean and Jennifer are having the conversation 'Andy' showed you. And you can bet your sweet rear-end that the future you're about to see is just as certain."

"Why are you showing me all this?"

"Don't worry about it right now, Sam," the Trickster said. "We'll recap later. For the time being, let's focus on where we'll all be in five years." The creature grinned that mischievous grin of his once more as he lifted his right hand.

He snapped his fingers.

_*_

Sam and the Trickster found themselves walking the littered streets of what had once been a bustling metropolis. It was now ground zero, the aftermath of some horrendous catastrophe.

Collapsed buildings. Charred remains. Piles of rubble. Crashed cars. Broken glass. And a horribly unsettling silence.

"Welcome to the future, Sam," the Trickster told him. "It's Christmas Eve, 2012." He frowned. "Well, it's December 24, anyway. They banned calling it Christmas a couple of years ago."

"Where are we?" Sam asked, unable to remove his eyes from the destruction that surrounded him.

"Detroit, I think. It's kinda hard to tell. Everywhere pretty much looks the same in five years. From the big dots on the map to the tiniest, it's all ruins."

Sam gulped. "Where is everyone?"

The Trickster avoided eye contact.

Sam knew that wasn't a good sign. "Where's Dean?"

The Trickster hesitated before answering. "He's dead."

"No." Sam shook his head in disbelief. "He can't be."

"A little over two years ago, he and Jennifer were infected with the Croatoan virus. They killed each other."

"The Croatoan virus?"

"'Fraid so. Demons unleashed it in all the major cities. Everybody turned violent. Started wasting each other. It spread lightning fast, and in no time, everyone was gone. Even the ones who fought it. The best of the best. Like your brother. Believe me, Sam, Dean went down swingin'."

Sam swallowed hard. "What about Bobby? And Ellen?"

"They're dead, Sam. Everyone you ever cared about. Just about everyone, _period_. They're all gone."

Sam felt his eyes misting over as he stared at the wreckage. It looked like the set from some dark, post-apocalyptic science fiction thriller. Not _real life_. "What happened?"

"You really wanna know?" The Trickster asked.

Sam nodded.

"You gave in to Yellow Eyes."


	45. 1x9, V: Coming Clean

Sam shook his head furiously. "No. You're lying. I would _never _give in to that yellow-eyed bastard."

The Trickster held his arms out at his sides, calling Sam's attention to the destroyed city that surrounded them. "Well, look around, buddy, because all this is proof that you did."

"No." Sam clenched his teeth. "I wouldn't do that."

"I know you wouldn't, Sam. You're one of the good guys. There's absolutely _no _way you'd ever do what the demon tells you to do, especially knowing that it'll result in all the wreckage you see around you." The Trickster took a step forward. "_Unless_ the demon threatens you."

"I don't care if he kills me. I'll never follow him."

"Oh, I know you don't care if he kills _you_. Problem is, the demon knows that too. He knows your real weakness. And that, Sam, is your brother."

Sam frowned.

"Yep," The Trickster said. "Now, I don't know for certain, but I'm pretty friggin' sure the reason you decide to go along with the demon's plans is because he threatens Dean's life. Maybe his new gal-pal's, too. Either you join Yellow Eyes, or he takes them out."

"But you just said Dean and Jennifer are dead in five years if I _give in_."

"Exactly. Demons lie. They'll manipulate the crap right outta ya." The Trickster placed a hand on Sam's shoulder. "That's why we're talking, Sam. I know the kinda stuff you've been dealing with lately. With Yellow Eyes. With your dreams."

"How do you know so much?" Sam demanded, brushing away the creature's hand.

The Trickster shrugged his shoulders. "I just do. I know a lot of things. A _whole _lot more than you think," he said. "Now. I promised you a recap, so let's get to it."

"Fine."

"I know you and your big bro think I'm one of the bad guys, but I swear to you, we're on the same side. The whole reason I'm here, Sam, is to help you," The Trickster said. "Didn't you pay attention to what your girlfriend said? Everything you've seen tonight can help pull you off the path you're on, help you escape that evil destiny of yours. I, or Pastor Jim Murphy, I guess, hauled you to 1982, then to '83, so you'd see the kinda evil you're up against. So you could see for yourself what that yellow-eyed snake did to your family. How it contaminated you with demon blood, killed your mom without hesitation, and ripped your family apart. All that for…_this_."

Sam was silent as he stared at the city's remains.

"You needed to see the future to realize just how horrible things end up if you give in. We're talking the end of the world, here, Sam," The Trickster went on. "When the demon comes to you and wants to strike a deal, all you're gonna be thinking about is the safety and well-being of your brother. I mean, he'll pressure you. Find ways to break you. But you've gotta stay strong. Don't _ever _say yes to the demon. Unless you want the world to come to _this_."

Sam swallowed.

"One more thing, then I'm off my soapbox," The Trickster said. "'Andy' took you to Jennifer's room for a reason, too."

Sam waited for him to go on.

"You needed to realize how much you need to talk to your brother," The Trickster told him.

Sam's eyes dropped to the ground.

"Dean may be your weakness, but he's your strength in a lotta ways, too. He _wants _to _help _you. So let him. And Jennifer, too." The Trickster grinned. "You guys can be a triple threat." His perkiness faded. He peered intensely into Sam's eyes. "You can't fight this battle against Yellow Eyes alone, Sam. 'Cause if you do, you're sure to lose the war."

Sam remained quiet for a moment. Then, slowly, softly, he asked, "Why are you trying to help me?"

The grin reappeared on The Trickster's face. "'Tis the season, isn't it? The season for giving? For miracles? For peace on Earth and goodwill toward men?" He shrugged once more. "That _is _what this is all about, Sam. Consider this my Christmas gift to you."

Sam didn't know how to respond.

"So. To sum up our little lesson, I'll give you a relevant quote- 'Men's courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if persevered in, they must lead. But if the courses be departed from, the ends will change.' Charles Dickens, _A Christmas Carol_. Surprisingly classy of me, I know." The Trickster gave him an encouraging smile. "Point is, there _is _hope for you, Sam. You don't have to turn evil. You don't have to be the one responsible for the annihilation of the human race. You _can_ change your fate." He slapped Sam on the back. "So, here's hopin' ya do. Like, really hopin'. 'Cause if you don't, everybody's pushin' up daisies."

Sam nodded.

The Trickster pointed at him. "Go talk to your brother." He snapped his fingers.

_Elk Ridge Motel,_

_Beason, Wyoming._

_Present day._

About an hour later, when Dean left Jennifer's room and pushed open the door to his own, he was surprised to find Sam sitting on one of the beds, waiting for him.

Dean closed the door and met his brother's eyes. "I see you made it back," he said curtly, without thinking. He immediately regretted it. Determined to take Jennifer's advice to heart, he calmly added, "I, uh, I'm glad. I was worried."

"I know you were," Sam said. "And I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left without telling you."

Dean's voice remained cool as he asked, "Where'd you go?"

Sam sighed. "1982."

A frown wrinkled Dean's forehead. "What?"

Sam half-smiled. "It's kind of a long story."

"Well, I have no idea what that means, but I'm not gonna press it right now," Dean told him. "If you wanna fill me in on the details, please, by all means, do. Let's have ourselves a heart-to-heart. But if not…fine. I just don't wanna fight about it. Not now. Not tonight." Dean shrugged. "I mean, it's _Christmas_."

"Yeah." Sam smiled. "I don't wanna fight either."

"Good."

Sam lowered his eyes to the bedspread. "Actually, Dean…" He swallowed. "I wanna talk to you."

Dean tried to hide his amazement as he slid out of his jacket and sank onto the empty bed. "Okay." He faced his brother. "Shoot."

Sam drew in a deep breath. "You were right," he exhaled. "Keeping each other in the dark only leads to trouble. I, uh, I hadn't realized how much we'd drifted apart because of me. Not until now."

Sam proceeded to tell him everything. His dreams of Yellow Eyes. His experience with the Trickster. His visions of the past, the present, the future. He even told him about the blood the demon had dripped into his mouth as an infant. When his story was finished, Dean was quiet. For a long time.

_Don't blow up. Keep it together_, Dean told himself, if for no other reason than the fact that he now knew Jennifer was listening through the motel's flimsy walls.

"Lying to you was a mistake. I know that now," Sam said. "I should have told you about the dreams in the beginning. But I couldn't. You've already got so much on you, Dean, I just couldn't give you one more thing to worry about."

_How was sneaking around and lying about it any better? _Dean wanted to ask. But he managed to control himself.

"And I'm sorry for not trusting Jennifer," Sam said. "Yeah, the demon's got some sorta plan for her, too, but I can see now that whatever her part is, she's as innocent and confused about it as we are."

Yes, as innocent and confused as they were. Maybe Sam hadn't handled all of this in the best way possible, but he'd done nothing wrong. He hadn't asked to be contaminated with demon blood. He hadn't summoned Yellow Eyes every night, willing him to appear and taunt him. None of it was Sam's fault. And Dean couldn't blame him for keeping it all to himself. Because when it came down to it, he probably would have reacted the same way if their roles were reversed. He wasn't exactly known for sharing his burdens either. As much as he wanted to lash out at his little brother, Dean couldn't.

"So, from here out," Sam said, "whatever else happens with Yellow Eyes, my nightmares…you'll know about it. I promise."

Dean dipped his head. "Okay. Then we're on the same page here."

"Yeah."

"Good." Dean grinned. "Now let's kick this thing's ass. Together."


	46. 1x10, I: Have A Drink On Me

A/N: Here's a break from the evil destiny stuff. Thanks for reading and reviewing! Happy new year!

* * *

"**Calling Dr. Love"**

**

* * *

  
**

_Rusty Spurs Saloon,_

_Grover, Idaho._

_One Month Later._

Jennifer Bane sat in a vinyl booth situated near the bar, quietly minding her own business and trying to ignore the freakishly large moose head mounted on the wall beside her. She hummed along softly as Loretta Lynn's "Coal Miner's Daughter" drifted from the old Wurlitzer jukebox in the corner. When she set her frosted mug of Diet Dr. Pepper down on the tabletop, she realized that she felt surprisingly comfortable in the smoke-filled watering hole.

Maybe she had adjusted to life with the Winchesters.

For the moment, she was alone. Sam was in the restroom, and Dean was in the back of the western-styled saloon attempting to scam some poor stranger out of his cash in a not-so-friendly game of pool.

Jennifer reached into her purse and pulled out her cell phone to check the time. _11:53 PM_. She folded her RAZR shut. Then she glanced up and found a homely young man with an unkempt brown bowl-cut standing at the edge of her table.

"I'm sorry," the unfamiliar man apologized. "I didn't mean to startle you. How are you doing this evening?"

"Fine, thanks. Yourself?"

He smiled. "Vertical and ventilating."

"Vertical and ventilating? That's new."

He extended his hand to her. "I'm Scott."

Hesitantly, she took it. "Jennifer."

"Pleasure to meet you, Jennifer. Now, what's a pretty girl like you doing all alone in a bar on a Friday night?"

"Oh, I'm not alone," she replied. "I'm here with friends."

Scott's eyes darted left and right, obviously searching for those 'friends' of hers. "It appears they've abandoned you. Some friends, huh?"

"Uh-"

"How about I buy you a drink?"

"No. No, thank you. I'm good."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

Scott nodded and backed away from the table. "Alright. Well, it was really nice to meet you."

She forced a polite smile.

Scott hurried away just as Sam returned from the restroom. Sam's eyes followed the unattractive brown-haired fellow as they walked past each other. With a furrowed brow, Sam looked at Jennifer. "Who was he?"

"I don't know." She took another sip of her Diet Dr. Pepper. "I think he was hitting on me."

Sam dropped into the opposite side of the booth. "Really?"

"He kinda had a creepy vibe about him."

"Yeah, well." Sam reopened his hibernating laptop and returned to what he had been doing before his retreat to the restroom- research. "That's pretty much the kind of people you meet in places like this." He glanced away from his computer for a second and stared toward the rear of the bar, where the pool tables and Dean were located. "Here comes Dean."

She set down her Diet Dr. Pepper and scooted toward the wall, making room for the oldest Winchester.

With a satisfied smile on his face, Dean strolled up to their table and slid into the seat next to Jennifer. "Check it out." He reached into his jacket pocket, removed a wad of cash, and held it up with pride. "Hustled three hundred bucks outta that unsuspecting douchebag."

Jennifer frowned at him.

"And I feel just awful about it," he added. Dean tucked the money safely inside his jacket and stole a heavily battered French fry from Jennifer's plate.

She sighed. "I can see that you do."

Dean washed down two more fries with a swig of lukewarm beer. He looked at Sam. "Any leads on Yellow Eyes?"

"None," Sam said, eyeing the computer screen. "No omens, no cattle mu-" He suddenly jumped, startled by something unknown to Dean and Jennifer. "Hang on a sec. My phone's ringing." He reached into a pocket and yanked out his vibrating cell phone. Glanced at the caller ID before flipping the phone open. "Ash, hey."

Dean turned to Jennifer. "Ash? Maybe he's found something."

"I'm sorry, what?" Sam spoke into the phone. "What?" He winced. "Ash, I can barely hear you. Hold on." He rose from the booth. To Jennifer and Dean, he said, "It's too loud in here. I'll be back." Sam took the mobile device with him and stepped outside.

Dean reached for another one of Jennifer's French fries.

"Here. Just take them." She pushed the plate in front of him. "Want some ketchup?"

He was fairly certain she was being sarcastic, but he didn't let it bother him. "That'd be awesome, thanks."

Jennifer handed him the plastic bottle of Heinz.

Just as Dean popped the cap and upturned the container, the only bartender on staff that night, a cowboy-boot-wearing older guy with a silver handlebar mustache, approached their table, tray in hand.

"Pardon me, ma'am," the bartender said to Jennifer as he lowered the tray. "The gentleman at the end of the bar had this sent over for you." He placed a tall, icy beverage in front of her and left.

Shocked, Jennifer glanced up and scanned over the faces of the men occupying barstools. Scott, the ugly, brown-haired, vertical-and-ventilating creep, smiled as he lifted his own glass. He gave her a little wave.

Jennifer hesitantly returned it.

"That's pretty damn forward," Dean remarked, frowning at the drink. "I _know _he sees me sitting here. For all he knows, we're together. What kinda idiot does something like that?"

"An idiot with great taste in women," she joked.

"I oughta march right over there and kick his ass."

"Why? We're not together."

"He doesn't know that. _Idiot_," he snarled. "Somebody needs to teach that yahoo a lesson."

She sniffed the dark-colored liquid and recoiled. "Let it go."

"What the crap is that, anyway? Probably the cheapest thing on the menu."

Her brow furrowed as she listened to him. "What's your problem? I'm sure it's delicious," she stated, getting a tad defensive. "It sure smells…good."

Dean had a tone when he said, "Then by all means, drink up."

"I will." She took a deep breath and brought the glass to her lips. She forced herself to take a giant gulp of the strong smelling liquid. Immediately, her face contorted with disgust. She slammed the glass down onto the table. "Oh, gosh, it burns! It burns!" Overwhelmed by the drink's bitter taste, she had the urge to spit. "Ugh, it burns!"

Dean watched her, amused. "What, you've never had alcohol before?"

"Please." Determined to show out a little, she fought the burning sensation, grabbed up the beverage, and downed several more sips. "Crap, I can't do it." She set down the half-empty glass and slid it away from herself, repulsed. "It's horrible."

"Come on." Dean reached across the table and seized the drink. "It can't be that bad." He took a swig. Made a face and exhaled loudly. "See? It's fine." He turned up the glass and swallowed some more.

Jennifer stared at him in astonishment. "How can you drink that crap?"

"I'm trying to impress that handsome little devil over there at the bar." Dean finished off the complimentary beverage and held up the empty glass for her ugly admirer to see. However, the creep was gone.

"Ugh!" Jennifer chugged her Diet Dr. Pepper, hoping to rid her tongue of the sourness caused by the alcoholic drink. "Disgusting."

The saloon door swung open as Sam returned. He made his way across the wooden floor and resumed his seat in the booth.

"You missed it, man," Dean said.

Sam's eyebrows arched. "What happened? Did the 'unsuspecting douchebag' you hustled come back to get even?"

"Some random dude just bought her a drink," Dean said.

"The guy with the creepy vibe?" Sam wanted to know.

"Yes," Jennifer said.

"Did you already have a run-in with him or somethin'?" Dean turned to Jennifer, who was still slurping down Diet Dr. Pepper. "Uh…are you okay?"

She nodded wordlessly.

"You sure? I'm not gonna have you puking in my car."

"I'm fine."

Dean wasn't convinced, but he didn't push it. "So. What'd Ash say?" he asked Sam. "Any new information about the demon's whereabouts?"

"No, unfortunately. He can't find anything either. Seems like Yellow Eyes is laying low right now, for some reason."

"That can't be good."

"Yeah. Ash was calling to tell me about a job," Sam informed him. "A twenty-eight year old Home Depot employee in Skelton, Arizona, was attacked by a nail gun."

Dean cringed. "Like in _Final Destination 3_?"

"What?"

"You remember. When that red-headed chick gets pushed against the shelf and the nail gun clicks on?"

"I guess…"

"Man. That was some freaky crap right there."

Sam nodded. "Anyway, there was no one else around in the store, and the…" He stopped talking when he noticed how sickly pale Jennifer was beginning to look. "Jennifer?"

Struggling to control her gag reflex, she swallowed. "I'm okay. Continue."

"Come on. I had just as much of that drink as you did, and I'm fine." Dean looked at her, clearly worried. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm fine," she insisted. She went for her soda again.

"You're only making it worse," Dean said. "Put that down."

He reached over and removed the Diet Dr. Pepper from her grasp. As he did so, his hand brushed against hers. The feeling of his skin on hers made Jennifer shiver. Apparently, the contact had a similar effect on Dean.

Their eyes locked.

Jennifer's heart rate doubled, maybe even tripled, as she gazed into his hazel green eyes. Such beautiful eyes. Like seriously, _incredible _eyes. She wondered why she'd never truly noticed them before. And those lips of his. They were perfect. So perfectly shaped. So full. Still moist from the last time he had involuntarily licked them. They looked so soft. She wanted to _know _how soft they were. She wanted to touch them…

_What in the world was happening to her? _

Since the moment Dean had plopped down beside her on that church pew back in Antioch eight or so months ago, Jennifer had found him particularly handsome, but…_wow_. Tonight, he was stunning. Irresistible. Such gorgeous eyes. Kissable lips. Immaculately formed nose. Sexy cleft chin covered with stubble.

Gosh, it was like staring into the face of Adonis.

Jennifer tried to look away, but she could not. She found herself suddenly mesmerized by Dean Winchester.


	47. 1x10, II: Jennifer Gone Wild

_Chieftain Plaza Motel,_

_Grover, Idaho._

_Much later that night._

"Dean." Sam pursed his lips in frustration when he received no response. "_Dean_."

For the past thirty minutes, Dean had been sitting at the foot of his bed, shoulders hunched as he repeatedly polished an already clean handgun. He had been so completely focused on the unnecessary task, he had tunnel vision from staring at the barrel of the gun for so long. Actually, he hadn't truly been staring at the gun. He'd been staring at nothing, really, staring off into space as his thoughts took control.

"Dean, look at me."

Dean blinked. He snapped back into reality and lifted his eyes to his brother.

"What's wrong with you? You're not listening to anything I'm saying," Sam grumbled.

He heaved a sigh. "Sorry."

"Focus, Dean. We've gotta job to do," Sam reminded him. "Now." He fixed his eyes on his laptop. "The dead Home Depot employee, Cole McBride, complained to his supervisor about hearing strange noises a week before his death. He claims to have heard-" Sam cut himself off when Dean returned to his cleaning and got that far-away look again. "Dean?"

"What?"

Sam swallowed. "You're doing it again."

"No, I'm not."

"Yeah, you are." Sam tried again. "Now, McBride said he heard a whispering voice. A woman's voice, actually, saying the same phrase over and over-"

Without warning, Dean threw the empty gun at the mattress. His voice was filled with angst as he said, "Man, I can't do it anymore."

Sam was confused. "What?"

"I can't do it anymore, Sammy."

"Do what? The job?"

"No."

"Then what?"

Dean violently rubbed his forehead. "I just can't…I can't keep it inside anymore."

Sam was _really _confused. And worried. "Keep what inside, Dean?"

Dean couldn't bring himself to look into Sam's face. "You were right."

"About?"

"About me," Dean revealed slowly. "About…the way I feel about Jennifer."

He certainly hadn't seen that one coming. He had braced himself for a dark revelation about the Yellow Eyed Demon, Sam's destiny, Jennifer's destiny, the end of the world. Anything but Dean's true feelings for Jennifer. Sam sighed with relief. "What do you mean?"

Dean rose from the bed and started pacing. "I, uh…" He scratched the back of his neck. "I like her, man." He cleared his throat. "A lot." His mouth fell open. He closed it. Opened it again. "I don't know what changed, but something about her…tonight in the bar…" He sat down. "I don't know, dude, it was like a freakin' Clapton song."

A grin stretched Sam's lips. "Wow."

Dean smiled nervously. "I know, right? I gotta talk to her, man." He stood once again and grabbed his jacket from its untidy resting place on the floor. He smiled as he slipped it on.

"You're going now?"

"No time like the present, my brother."

"Uh…the present is five 'til midnight," Sam pointed out. "Jennifer's probably already asleep."

"Nah. She's a night owl."

"Dean. You're really gonna march over to her room in the middle of the night and confess your love?"

"Yeah, I guess that _is _kinda lame." Dean shrugged and removed his jacket. He tossed it to the floor where it belonged. "I'll hold off a while. Wait 'til the moment's right."

Sam just stared. "Yeah. You do that."

_Very early the next morning._

Dean beat on the door to Jennifer's room, notifying her that he and Sam were ready to leave for breakfast. As he waited for her to answer, he brushed a piece of lint from his jeans, performed a quick breath check, and popped the collar on his faded brown leather jacket.

Feeling spiffy, he knocked again.

"Hurry it up in there!" he called through the door. "We're starving!"

Behind him, Sam leaned against the Impala, waiting. "Real smooth, Dean," Sam said with a grin.

"Dude, get off the car! You're gonna scratch the paint."

Sam rolled his eyes and moved away from the '67 Chevy.

Dean was about to knock another time when the door jerked open. His heart skipped at the sight of Jennifer. Then _again _at what she was _wearing_.

Flinging her perfectly straightened brown hair over her shoulder, Jennifer stepped out of the motel room in a revealing cherry-colored bustier top, a form-fitting black leather bomber jacket, a black leather miniskirt that hugged her in all the right places, and stiletto-heeled, knee-high leather boots in black.

She flashed Dean a smile as she closed the door behind her. "Good morning."

Dean was unable to remove his eyes from her plunging neckline as he responded, "Yes. _Yes, it is_." As gravity would have it, his eyes dropped to her backside. "Holy crap, woman, you look…amazing."

Jennifer blushed. "Thanks."

Hesitantly, Sam approached her with a furrowed brow. "What's with the outfit? You going undercover as a stripper or something?"

"No," she replied. "I just wanted to try something new." She glanced at Dean. "Is there anything wrong with that?"

"Oh, God, no," Dean said quickly.

Jennifer raised her eyebrows as she turned to Dean. "Does that mean you like it?"

Dean nodded.

"Good," she said. She stepped closer to him and lowered her voice. "I hoped you would."

With a quizzical look on his face, Sam observed the exchange between the two. Something was…off. _Really _off. "Jennifer, where did you get those clothes?"

She frowned at him. "What?"

"It's just…I find it a little hard to believe you've had them packed in your suitcase this whole time."

"There's a Goodwill a couple of blocks down the street," she informed him, still frowning. "I went shopping last night, if you _must_ know." A smile replaced her frown as she turned back to Dean.

Sam watched as his brother and their scantily-clad female friend gazed at each other. He cleared his throat loudly. "Well, okay, guys, we need to get moving if we're gonna make it to Arizona today."

"Right. Arizona." Dean didn't bother to look away from Jennifer. "We're right behind you, Sammy."

Feeling a bit confused about what was taking place in front of him, Sam led the way to the Impala.

_Fourteen hours later._

Today might have been the longest, weirdest day of Sam Winchester's life.

Having just arrived in Skelton, Arizona, Sam pulled the Impala to a stop outside the Brass Lantern Inn. He shifted into park and glanced up at the rear-view mirror to check out Dean and Jennifer's reflections once more.

They were both asleep. Jennifer's head rested on Dean's shoulder; Dean's head lay on top of Jennifer's. Sam wasn't sure whether to coo or scream.

The couple had not taken their eyes off each other since they had left the motel back in Idaho. That morning, during the car ride to Mel's Pancake Station, they had shared flirtatious smiles. During breakfast, they had shared each other's food. And during the entire trip to Arizona, they had closely shared the backseat.

They laughed at everything the other said. They held hands. And apparently, they cuddled.

Sam was seriously feeling like a third wheel.

Happy to kill the moment, he honked the car horn with as much force as he could muster. "We're here, guys," Sam said when he heard stirring noises. "Wake up."

Jennifer yawned as she pulled away from Dean. "We're in Skelton _already_?"

Sam scowled at the question.

"Hey, uh, Sammy?" Having just awakened, Dean's speech was a little slurred. "Why don't you go ahead and check us in? We'll be right here."

With an eye roll, Sam replied, "Of course you will." He exited the Impala with a huff and headed toward the motel office to reserve two rooms, fairly certain he would be getting his own room tonight.

He returned in a few minutes with their keys and tapped the back window on his way to open the trunk. Dean and Jennifer climbed out of the backseat, hand in hand.

"Alright." Sam reached into the trunk and pulled out his backpack. "I guess we should get settled in real quick and head to the Home Depot where Cole McBride was killed."

Dean nodded, barely listening to his brother.

Sam noticed. He took Dean's bag out of the car and threw it at him, hard. It smacked into his chest. "We'll go over the place with the EMF detectors, see if we pick up anything." Sam glanced at Jennifer. "You should probably change clothes first."

"Why?" Dean asked, frowning.

"We don't want to draw unnecessary attention to ourselves." Sam said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "We've gotta job to do. Plus, you're wanted by-"

"Yeah, yeah, bite me." Dean picked up Jennifer's bags for her and started walking. "She can wear whatever she wants to, Sam. Get over it."

Sam was surprised by the harshness of Dean's tone. However, not wanting to waste time arguing, he slammed the trunk and followed after them.

_The Home Depot._

The automatic doors swished open, welcoming Jennifer and the Winchesters to the home improvement warehouse.

"I guess we need to head over to tools and hardware," Sam said, trying to get past the fact that Dean was still holding hands with Jennifer, who had _not _changed clothes. Quietly, he added, "That's where Cole McBride's body was found."

Dean nodded. "Okay."

Sam led the way. The three of them turned down aisle five, where the tools and hardware section began.

The Home Depot always bragged about its readily available staff and how they were ever eager to help their customers accomplish their projects. Corporate office would have been proud. The hunters were immediately approached by a middle-aged man sporting an orange apron. His name badge identified him as Tom.

"Good evening, folks. Welcome to Home Depot! May I assist you in finding anything tonight?" Tom greeted them enthusiastically.

"No, we're just looking, thanks," Sam responded fast, hoping Tom would move it along.

"Alrighty-roo!" Tom said, in an almost painfully cheerful voice. He backed away a few feet. "My name's Tom, and I'll be right here if you need me."

Sam, Dean, and Jennifer waited for Tom to leave, but he didn't. He stood _right there_, as promised, maintaining a friendly smile as he waited to be called upon.

Moving away from Tom, Sam leaned close to Dean and whispered, "We're obviously not gonna get anything done with _him_ standing there. Maybe if we split up, we won't look so suspicious."

Dean appeared to agree.

Since the older of the two Winchesters seemed to be more interested in Jennifer's boobs than the case at hand, Sam put himself in charge and began giving orders. "Okay. You two stay here and try your best to look around. Maybe one of you can distract Tom while the other scans for EMF. I'm sure you'll think of a plan." He slipped Jennifer his EMF detector. "I'm gonna see if I can speak with McBride's boss."

"Gotcha," Dean said.

"We'll meet back up in...say, fifteen?"

"Where will we meet?" Jennifer inquired.

"Flooring," Dean decided.

"Why flooring?" Sam queried.

Dean shrugged. "Does it matter?"

"Guess not. Flooring it is." Sam sighed and left the two alone with Tom.

* * *

Thirteen minutes later, Sam stood beside a board of multi-colored carpet samples, waiting for Dean and Jennifer to show up.

Twenty-seven minutes later, he was _still _waiting.

When a total of thirty minutes had passed, Sam pulled out his cell phone and called Dean.

It rang four times before he answered as politely as usual. "_What_?"

"Did you find anything?"

Dean paused. "Huh?"

"Did you find anything?" Sam repeated. "Any EMF?"

Once again, the line went silent. "Oh, uh, EMF. Right." Dean chuckled softly and said to whom Sam presumed was Jennifer, "Yeah, yeah, that's cute, baby."

"Hello?"

"Uh, we didn't really find anything, Sammy. Except some of the _ugliest _freakin' wallpaper I've ever seen. You wouldn't believe the crap this place sells."

Sam raised a brow. "Wallpaper? Why are you looking at wallpaper? You were supposed to meet me in flooring when you got done checking for EMF."

"Whoops." To Jennifer, Dean said, "Did you know we were supposed to meet Sam in flooring?"

Sam rolled his eyes when he heard Jennifer respond with a 'no'. "Dean, _you _suggested flooring."

He heard Dean's obnoxious laughter again as he muttered some unintelligible something to Jennifer. "I'm sorry, Sammy, what'd you say?"

A frustrated sigh escaped Sam's lips. "Are you still looking at wallpaper?"

"Yeah."

"Don't move. I'm headed that way now." Sam took off toward the wallpaper section with an aggravated grunt, clapping his phone shut along the way. Seconds later, he found Dean and Jennifer getting handsy by the wall appliqués. He resisted the urge to vomit and continued approaching them. He cleared his throat loudly.

Jennifer glanced away from Dean for two whole seconds to acknowledge Sam.

"Hey, Sammich," Dean greeted him, unusually perky.

"Don't call me that. About the EMF."

"We kinda didn't find anything," Jennifer told him, clinging tightly to Dean's arm.

"Nothing?"

Dean nodded. "We probably couldn't have gotten a good reading anyway. That Tom freak was up our asses the whole time."

"What do you mean you '_probably_' couldn't have?" Sam wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to that.

The couple exchanged glances.

Sam asked, "You mean you didn't even try?"

Dumbly, Dean turned to Jennifer, then back to Sam. "Yeah, that's pretty much what we mean."

"So, while I've been grilling the store manager about McBride's death, you know, lying, making sure I ask just the right questions to help us out _and_ keep the guy from getting suspicious, you two have been looking at wallpaper samples."

"Well, I don't think we've really been paying too much attention to the wallpaper," Dean confessed, "if you get my drift."

Sam clenched his jaw. He was way past annoyed and getting close to angry. "There's not a drift to get, Dean. What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with _me_?"

"Yeah!"

"Nothing's wrong. I'm awesome."

Sam studied his brother's countenance. He was grinning. His twinkling eyes were glued to Jennifer. So were his hands.

It was certainly in character for Dean to take a little time off to spend with the ladies, but when he was working a job, he was _always _business first. Today, for some reason, he had no trouble relinquishing his duties as a hunter, forgetting the case, and focusing on the girl.

Sam frowned. Something was off, for sure.


	48. 1x10, III: Is This Love

_Brass Lantern Inn,_

_Skelton, Arizona._

The question of why the Brass Lantern Inn had chosen mustard-colored bedspreads with mallard ducks screen printed across them was eating at Sam, but it was the least of his worries. His main concern was the quickly blossoming romance between Dean and Jennifer and how he was going to confront his brother about it.

That _and_ the fact that Dean was presently belting out Whitesnake's "Is This Love" with no regard to the motel's thin walls or Sam's poor ears.

Sitting on one of the hideous bedspreads, Sam cringed as his tone deaf brother's singing voice resonated from the bathroom. "-And I can't wait to see you again…so I can hold you in my arms!" Sam winced; that last note was truly painful. Dean went on to the chorus. "Is this love…that I'm feeling? Is this love…that I've been searching for?"

Dean's agonizing vocal stylings came to an abrupt stop. Through the open doorway of the restroom, Sam saw him toss back some mouthwash.

He sighed with relief. Such sweet relief. The room was silent at last.

For about thirty seconds.

Dean spat the mouthwash into the sick, wiped his mouth with a towel, and picked up where he'd left off. "Is this love…or am I dreaming?" He paused as he leaned closer to the mirror and used his thumbnail to remove a leftover morsel of dinner from his teeth. Then, much to his younger brother's dismay, he crooned, "This must be love…'cuz it's really got a hold-"

"Dude!" Sam interrupted, unable to take another note.

With a wounded expression, Dean turned to him. "What?"

"Enough already." Sam took a deep breath and scooted toward the edge of the bed. "Look, you can't keep your eyes _or _your hands off Jennifer, you were too busy messing around with her today to focus on the job, and now you're singing _power ballads_?"

Dean flopped the hand towel down beside the sink and slowly exited the bathroom. "I'm sorry, man, it's just…" He ran his fingers through his closely cropped hair as he crossed the threshold. "I've never really…felt like this before."

"Yeah, I've noticed." Sam frowned. "And what about Jennifer? All of a sudden she's obsessed with you."

"So?"

"_So_, there's something weird about it."

"No, there's not. Chicks dig me."

"Not chicks like Jennifer. Well, I mean, she's doesn't act like _that_." Sam sighed. "Something is wrong here."

Dean glared at his brother as he plopped onto the empty bed. "You've been trying to set us up since we met her, Sam. What's your problem now?"

"This isn't how it's supposed to happen. There's more to this."

"Dude, why are you so convinced that something's going on just because Jennifer's into me?"

"'Into you'? Dean, she's more than _into you_. She's throwing herself at you."

"And you're saying that it's impossible for her to voluntarily do that?"

"No, I'm saying it's out of character for her to dress up like a hooker and go chasing after you."

A smirk made its way across Dean's face. "Well, get used to it, buddy. Like I said, chicks dig me."

"Right." Sam rolled his eyes.

The smirk was replaced by a look of sudden revelation. "Oh, I get it." He pointed an accusatory finger at Sam. "You're jealous."

"Jealous?"

"You've spent the past few months nagging me about how I should get with Jennifer, but you never thought I actually would. Because I'm a Winchester, and there's some unspoken rule that Winchesters don't do relationships. Because you thought Jennifer would never go for someone like me. But mostly because you knew that if I _did_ start something with her, that would leave _you_ all alone." A dramatic pause. "Well, you were right about that one. Here you are, Sam. Completely alone."

Sam swallowed hard.

"Cut the crap and suck it up, Sammy." Dean rose from the bed and marched across the room toward the door. "Just because you're alone don't mean I have to be." He turned away, yanked open the door, and disappeared into the night, leaving Sam alone and more confused than ever.

* * *

In the next room over, the lights were turned down low as Dean and Jennifer sat side by side on the only bed in the room, leaning against the headboard. They sat together on top of the covers, fully clothed, legs entwined, gazing at each other. "Can't Fight This Feeling" by REO Speedwagon streamed from the radio on the nightstand.

She fingered the collar of his button-down shirt. "I'm sorry you had a fight with Sam."

"He's just jealous," Dean replied. He twirled a strand of her hair around his index finger. "He doesn't understand what we have."

She was quiet for a moment before she said, "I'm not sure I do either." When he raised his eyebrows, she continued. "These feelings that I have for you? They're so powerful. So intense."

"Hell, you know I feel the same way about you, baby. I've never felt like this. Ever."

Softly, she asked, "Then what are we gonna do? Where are we going with this, whatever it is that we have?"

"I don't know." His voice turned low and husky. "Where do you _want _this to go?"

Her eyes fell to the ugly yellow bedspread. To the ducks printed on it. "I, uh, I'm not sure." She said nothing for a while. "All I know is," she peered up into his eyes. "I want you."

He smiled. Gently stroked her cheek. "Well." She could feel the warmth of his breath on her neck as he whispered, "Then I think we both know where this is going."

_Late the next morning. _

Although Sam probably shouldn't have been surprised that Dean had not returned to their room during the night, he was. The idea that his big brother had actually spent the night with Jennifer Bane shocked him.

But apparently, Dean's charm could win over any female. Even nice, Christian females with college educations and high standards.

So, as Sam stood outside Jennifer's motel room, he was scared to knock. He was more than a little worried about what he might find on the other side of the door. However, after noticing the absence of a 'do not disturb' sign hanging from the doorknob, he drew in a deep breath.

_Knock, knock, knock._

He waited. No answer.

He listened. No disturbing sounds of pleasure coming from inside the room. No expletives in response to his knocking. Nothing. Just silence.

That's when Sam noticed that the Impala was gone.

_That can't be good._

He reached into his pocket and removed his cell phone. He called Dean.

After six or seven rings, he finally heard his brother's voice. "Hello?"

"Dean, where are you?" Sam demanded an answer. "Where's Jennifer?"

Dean's reply was unexpectedly enthusiastic. "We're in Vegas!"

"Las Vegas?" He couldn't believe it. "I hope you're joking."

"Nope. No way."

"What the hell are you doing in Vegas?"

"Dude," Sam could hear the smile in Dean's voice as he said, "we're getting married!"

"_What?_"

"Ooh, gotta go, man. No cell phones allowed in the courthouse."

"Dean, get away from the courthouse! Dean!"

_Click._

At first, Sam just stood there, staring at his phone, trying to comprehend what Dean had said.

Then he speed-dialed Bobby Singer.


	49. 1x10, IV: Love In The Fast Lane

_Love in the Fast Lane Drive-Thru Wedding Chapel,_

_Las Vegas, Nevada._

The Impala rumbled up to the drive-thru window at the Love in the Fast Lane Drive-Thru Wedding Chapel and jerked to a stop. Dean honked the horn.

The minister, a short woman who bore a striking resemblance to Delta Burke, slid open the window and poked out her head. "Hello, there! You must be Dean and Jennifer."

Dean dipped his head with a smile. "That we are."

"Welcome to your wedding! You two ready to get things rolling?"

"Lady," Dean said, "we were born ready."

"Wonderful."

"But first." Dean leaned forward and reached for the stereo. "How 'bout a little music for the occasion?" He turned the volume knob to the right, filling the vehicle with the sounds of Guns N' Roses. "There. That's better."

"Mm-hmm!" Jennifer excitedly scooted closer to Dean.

"Okay, baby!" He slung his arm around Jennifer and pulled her close. "Let's do this!"

"Alright, then, here we go." The minister stared down at her script. "We are gathered here today to celebrate the joining together of this happy couple in holy matrimony. Marriage, as you know, is a union that should not be entered into lightly-"

"Yeah, yeah," Dean cut her off. "Skip to the good stuff, sweetheart."

The Delta Burke look-a-like glanced up at him, surprised. "Uh, okay…" She flipped through a few pages of her booklet. "Do you, Dean, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"Damn straight."

The woman frowned at the obscenity. "And do you, Jennifer, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

Jennifer grinned and squeezed Dean's hand. "I do."

"By the power vested in me by the state of Nevada and as minister of the Love in the Fast Lane Wedding Chapel, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride."

Dean turned to his new wife and laid one on her. About fifteen seconds later, Jennifer pulled away from him and let out a girly shriek of excitement.

"Congratulations!" The minister handed him a slip of paper. "This is the bill for my services."

Dean shucked a couple of twenties from his wallet, slapped them into Delta Burke's hand, and shifted into drive. "Keep the change." The tires squealed as the Impala reeled away from the chapel.

* * *

_A truck stop outside Las Vegas, Nevada._

A 1971 Chevelle that had seen better days screeched to a halt beside Sam's borrowed Jeep. The driver's door of the Chevelle squeaked open as Bobby Singer climbed out, faded trucker cap in hand.

"Hey, Bobby," Sam said, greeting him with a handshake.

"Sam. It's good to see you, boy."

"You too. Thanks for coming."

"Don't mention it." Bobby tugged his hat onto his head. "You know, I've seen a lotta wild crap in my time, but the kinda messes you boys get yourselves into…"

Sam sighed. "I know."

Bobby just shook his head. "So. Where's Romeo?"

"I just tracked him and Jennifer down. They're staying in a honeymoon suite at the Star-Crossed Lovers Inn on the Strip."

Bobby wrinkled his nose. "Sounds like a real classy joint."

"Yeah."

"Well, we can take my ride."

The two of them wandered over to Bobby's Chevelle and hopped inside.

* * *

_Star-Crossed Lovers Inn on the Strip,_

_Las Vegas, Nevada._

About thirty minutes later, Sam and Bobby arrived outside the door to Dean and Jennifer's suite. They stood motionless, staring at the glittery pink warning hanging from the doorknob: _Do Not Disturb_. They glanced at each other.

"_I _ain't knockin'," Bobby said.

Sam took a deep breath, gathered his courage, and knocked. The two hunters shared nervous looks.

The door jerked open, revealing a jubilant Dean. A jubilant Dean sporting a white, over-sized, plush bathrobe. "Sam! Bobby! You finally decided to congratulate us."

"Uh…yeah," Sam said. "Yeah. That's why we're here."

"Awesome. Look, man, I'm glad you're here and all, but your timing sucks." Dean's grin spread even wider as he lowered his voice. "We were just about to make things official." He winked.

Sam sighed with relief. "Thank God we got here when we did."

"You can say that again," Bobby agreed.

Dean turned his back to them. "Hey, baby, come here for a second. There's somebody I want you to meet." His eyebrows bounced excitedly as he faced Bobby and Sam.

Jennifer, who wore a robe that matched Dean's, ran to his side. She slipped her arms around his waist and gave him a squeeze. "Hey, guys!"

"This here is Bobby Singer," Dean said. "Bobby, this is my _wife_. Jennifer."

"It's wonderful to meet you, Bobby. I've heard so much about you," she said, beaming.

"You too, darlin'," Bobby said as politely as he could. His forehead wrinkled as he stared at her. Then at Dean. "So, you _actually_ tied the knot?"

"Yes, sir! And I'm happier than I've ever been," Dean replied.

Bobby took a step toward the happy couple, studying both of them intently. "Uh-huh." He leaned in closer and inhaled deeply. He frowned. "I'm sure you are." He glanced at Sam and gave him a discreet nod.

Sam took the hint. "Hey, uh, Dean? You mind giving us a minute?" he asked. "We'll be right back."

Dean bit his lip. "You think you could give us an idea of exactly _how _long you're gonna be gone?"

"Oh, come on, Dean." Bobby rolled his eyes. "Take a cold shower."

"_Separate _cold showers," Sam added, following Bobby down the hallway. He heard the door to the honeymoon suite close behind them. "What do you think, Bobby?"

"Well," Bobby sighed. "Seems to me like Jennifer and your brother got dosed with a philtre."

"A philtre?" Sam's eyebrows shot up. "You mean…a real-life love potion?"

"That's exactly what I mean. Both of them reeked of lovage and valerian root."

"I thought those were only used for medicinal purposes in medieval times."

Bobby shook his head. "They're also used in witchcraft to create love potions. Valerian root is a mega-powerful aphrodisiac. It's been said that when mixed with the right ingredients, it can turn even the most virtuous woman lustful."

"Is there any kind of an antidote?"

"'Fraid not. It's just gotta run its course," Bobby said. "The symptoms of an intoxication usually resolve within twenty-four to forty-eight hours, but sometimes it can take days. When did all this start?"

Sam thought about it for a moment. "The night before last. Right after…" He stopped. A look of enlightenment graced his features. "A philtre. That'd be something you drink, right?"

Bobby nodded.

"Two nights ago, we were in this bar in Idaho, and a shady guy hit on Jennifer. _And _he bought her a drink. Do you think he might have mixed in a little Love Potion Number 9?"

"Sounds possible. If Dean was the first person she laid eyes on...that'd explain it all. Except for how Dean got love struck."

"Right."

Bobby lifted his trucker cap from his head and scratched his scalp. "This shady guy. You get a good look at him?"

Sam nodded. "I'd recognize him again if I saw him."

"Okay. Let's see if we can get anything outta the two lovebirds."

* * *

_Rusty Spurs Saloon,_

_Grover, Idaho._

Although Jennifer and Dean were both convinced that their love was genuine and not the result of some potion-laced beverage, they told Bobby and Sam exactly what had happened at the bar. They had _shared _the drink. The guy had strangely disappeared after sending her the drink. And Jennifer remembered the guy's name- Scott.

So, the four of them piled into the Impala and headed north to find the creator of the philtre.

A cloud of dust followed the Chevrolet as Sam guided it into the parking lot of the Rusty Spurs Saloon.

"We're staying put," Dean informed his brother.

Sam huffed as he exited the vehicle. "Fine."

"I still don't get why you ruined our wedding night to drag us back to this crap town," Dean complained from the backseat.

"Trust me," Bobby said. "You'll thank us later."

Bobby and Sam entered the saloon, which was surprisingly empty for this time of night, and immediately spotted the bartender who had delivered the drink to Jennifer. The silver-haired bartender with a handlebar mustache glanced up from the counter he was wiping down and nodded in their direction.

"Evenin' gentlemen," the bartender said as they approached him. "What can I get for you?"

"If you've got a moment, we just need to ask you a couple of questions," Sam told him. "There was a guy in here Friday night. An average looking guy, Caucasian, about 5'10", brown hair. His name's Scott."

The bartender nodded. "You must mean Scott Fleming."

"You know him? What can you tell us about him?" Sam asked.

"That joker is always in here," the bartender sighed. "_Always_ hittin' on the ladies. Has surprisingly good luck with the women folk, too, to be such a double-ugly fellow."

Bobby frowned. "Is that so?"

"Yep. Half the time, he's taking some good-lookin' woman home with him. Don't know how he does it. He ain't got no personality neither."

"Sir, do you know where we might be able to find him?" Sam wanted to know.

The bartender shrugged. "He works down at the sub shop on Elton Street, but if you just hang around here for a while, you'll probably run into him."

Sam gave him a polite smile. "Thanks for your help."

* * *

_Jailhouse Subs,_

_Grover, Idaho._

The bell on the door to the small sandwich shop jangled as Bobby and Sam stepped inside. The place was nearly empty. No customers. The few employees on staff were getting ready to close. Sam immediately recognized Scott Fleming, the homely young man mopping the floor. Judging from his diverted gaze and sudden devotion to mopping as intensely as possible, Scott Fleming recognized Sam as well.

"Hey, there, Scott," Sam greeted him. "I think we need to talk."

Scott played dumb, focusing his eyes on the soapy floor tiles. "About what?"

"It took a lotta plannin', didn't it?" Bobby asked. He slid his hands into the pockets of his plaid flannel jacket. "Waitin' for the lunar cycle to get just right. Friday night was a waxing moon, wasn't it? Just what the recipe called for."

"I-I have no idea what you're talking about," Scott stammered.

"Look, Scott, we know what you've been doing," Sam said. "Dosing innocent girls with your potions. Making them do what you want. It's time to put a stop to it and whatever else you're using witchcraft to do."

"Witchcraft?" Scott's eyes widened. "What? No, no, it's not like _that._ No! No, I'm not a-a warlock or anything!"

"Oh yeah? Then explain how that _drink _you gave my friend caused her and my brother to end up like...like..." Sam sighed as he pointed to the window. He winced. "Like that." The backseat of the Impala, parked just outside the door, was clearly visible through the glass. Dean and Jennifer were there, in each other's laps, fogging up the windows with their passionate smooches.

"Good lord," Bobby groaned, watching their open display of affection. "I'm gonna hafta separate 'em."

"That was an accident," Scott confessed. "I didn't mean to do that."

"Then what happened?" Sam asked.

Scott leaned the mop against a nearby wall. "I, uh, I saw your friend sitting by herself. I thought she was cute." He scratched his forehead. "She was all alone when I saw her, I swear. I didn't know she was with you guys, or else I woulda picked some other girl. A single girl." His face turned pink. "By the time I saw _that _guy with her, I'd already given her the potion. Then _he _started drinking it too..." He shook his head. "Gosh, I'm sorry. I had no idea that would happen!"

"Well, things tend to get a little outta control when you mess around with witchcraft," Bobby said.

"There you go again with the witchcraft thing! I told you, it wasn't witchcraft!" Scott said. He heaved a sigh. "Listen, I was just trying to find a way to get girls to like me." His complexion reddened. "I was searching for stuff online, you know, ways to, uh, make yourself more attractive to women." The poor guy's face was now scarlet. "I came across this recipe. For a love potion. I was lonely and desperate and I didn't think it would work, but when I tried it, it did."

"At least for forty-eight hours, anyway," Sam said. "Right?"

Scott shrugged, staring into the sudsy mop bucket. "It's pathetic. I know. I was just trying to get a girlfriend."

"Try eHarmony," Bobby snarled.

"You don't understand," Scott said. "It's not that easy for me." He looked at Sam. "You're an attractive looking guy. You probably get girls all the time. Me? I'm twenty-five, and I've never had a girlfriend. _Ever_. How embarrassing is that?"

Sam swallowed. "That's no reason to stoop to this. This is _witchcraft_ we're talking about."

"I didn't know what I was doing! I didn't know it would work! It was just some stupid online thing."

"Well now you know," Bobby said. "And if you keep messin' around with this stuff, things are sure to go south. It always does. No matter how innocent it starts, witchcraft never ends pretty."

Scott frowned. "But I haven't hurt anybody."

"No, you haven't physically hurt anybody, but stop and think about it for a second," Sam said. "Love potions take away a person's free will. When you give that drink to these girls, people like Jennifer, you're taking away their ability to make their own choices and replacing it with what _you _want them to do. It's the same thing as a date rape drug, Scott."

Scott's eyes dropped to the floor.

"You've gotta put an end to this," Sam went on. "Now."

Scott Fleming responded with a silent nod.


	50. 1x10, V: Honeymoon's Over

_Chieftain Plaza Motel,_

_Grover, Idaho._

_The next morning._

Sam placed Bobby's bag into the trunk of his Chevelle and slammed it shut. "There you go, Bobby."

The older hunter smiled. "Thanks, kid."

"No problem." Sam stepped away from the rusted car. "I sure do appreciate your help. Dean and Jennifer were so out of it the past couple of days, I couldn't handle them on my own."

"Well, I didn't really do anything," Bobby said. "There's nothin' I coulda done. That philtre woulda run its course just the same."

"_Still_," Sam said. "Thanks."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, catching the last bit of their conversation. He kept his head low as he walked up from behind, his green canvas bag in hand. "Thanks for your help, Bobby. I was so out of it these past couple of days, Sam couldn't handle me on his own. If you hadn't come to help him out…"

Bobby grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. "Anything for you two chuckleheads," he said. "The potion wear off like it's supposed to?"

Dean nodded sheepishly, obviously embarrassed about the whole situation. "And judging by the fact that Jennifer hasn't come out of her room since last night, I'd say she's back to normal now, too."

Bobby's grin widened. "Guess the honeymoon's over, then."

Dean frowned at him.

"There she is," Sam said.

They looked across the parking lot to find Jennifer, who was now dressed in a modest, long-sleeved flannel button-down, jacket, and jeans, hauling her luggage out of her motel room.

"Well," Dean sighed, "this is gonna be awkward."

"Yep. Longest car ride ever," Sam agreed.

"That's my cue to go." Bobby jingled his car keys. "See you boys later. Drive safe, now."

"You too, Bobby," Sam said. "And thanks again."

Bobby nodded and gave Jennifer a wave as he climbed into the Chevelle. He closed the door, cranked it up, and sped away.

Jennifer stared at the pavement as she reached the brothers.

No one knew what to say.

"Oh, crap. I, uh, I think I left my phone in the room," Sam ended the silence as he backed away from the two. "I'll be right back."

Dean rolled his eyes as his brother left him alone with Jennifer.

Uncomfortable silence ensued.

"So, uh…" Dean scratched the back of his neck. "I, uh-" He cleared his throat. Forced a grin. "I see you're back to flannel."

She looked up at him. "Yes. I am. And I think I'm gonna burn that other outfit."

"I think you should keep it."

Her forehead wrinkled.

"You know. It might come in handy someday. As a costume, you know. A disguise. For a, uh, for a case."

She stared at him.

Dean cleared his throat again as he shifted his gaze to the motel sign. "So. I guess you're aware our, uh, marriage wasn't legal."

"Huh?"

"According to our license, you're married to Dean Hasselhoff."

Jennifer couldn't help but smile. "Oh."

"Yeah." He smiled back. "So, that's a relief."

"Guess your fake IDs are good for something."

"Yeah."

She suddenly started laughing.

"What?" he asked.

"I can't believe we got married in a drive-thru."

He laughed nervously. "Yeah. That Mr. and Mrs. Hasselhoff were a hell of a couple." He leaned against the Impala. "It's too bad it didn't work out for them."

"Yeah. It is."

Dean glanced at her. Their eyes met and locked on each other, very much like they had in the saloon Friday night. For a moment, he felt something. A spark. A real one. And he was sure she felt it too. However, deciding to dismiss the "spark" as the leftover side effects of the philtre, Dean made himself blink. "Anyway," he said, purposefully trying to end the moment. "It's all over now, thank God. We're back to normal."

She nodded, returning her eyes to the ground. She, too, had felt that little flicker of excitement as she'd stared into his eyes. She'd felt it before. Before the philtre. Before they'd come to Idaho. She didn't know exactly when it had started, but she'd sensed the chemistry between them for a while.

Jennifer felt him watching her again. She lifted her eyes to his. Her heart rate doubled as she gazed into his green eyes. Such beautiful eyes. _Incredible _eyes.

This time, she forced herself to look away. To ignore whatever it was that she was suddenly feeling. They had important work to do. This whole experience with the love potion had been a big enough distraction from Yellow Eyes and his evil plans. She could _not _add to it by further complicating her relationship with Dean.

She took a step back. "Can you, uh, open the trunk? I need to load my stuff."

"Yeah." He retrieved his keys from a pocket of his jacket. "Of course." He led the way to the rear of the vehicle and unlocked the storage compartment. He picked up her bags for her and placed them inside.

Showing up at just the right time, most likely because he'd been watching the scene from the window of the motel room, Sam returned. "Ready to go?"

"Yep." Dean closed the trunk with a thud. "Let's get outta here."


	51. 1x11, I: Beautiful Day For A Neighbor

A/N: Hi there! It's time for episode number eleven. Thanks for reading and reviewing! I can't believe you've stuck around for 50+ chapters! :)

* * *

**"There Goes The Neighborhood"**

**

* * *

**

_Friendship, Virginia._

_Six Months Later._

Neil Henderson took his wife's hands into his own as they bowed their heads over the table. "Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen." He raised his head and smiled at Betty. "Fine looking meal, my dear. That pork tenderloin looks exquisite."

Betty returned the smile as she placed a neatly ironed beige cloth napkin in her lap. "I hope it tastes alright. I'm a little nervous about the apricot fennel ragout. I've never tried it before."

"Oh, I'm sure it'll be just fine." Neil reached for the platter of pork and removed a hearty helping for himself.

"Potatoes, dear?"

"Why, certainly."

Betty passed him the bowl of buttery mashed potatoes. "Roll?"

"Make it two."

Neil Henderson loaded his plate with a mound of food. Though Betty was worried about the quality of her experimental entrée, he was confident in his wife's ability. She was a wonderful cook. In their twenty-two years of marriage, not once had she served him a meal that was less than delicious.

He lifted his fork from the place setting and dug in. "Betty, it's just as I suspected. The pork is perfect." Neil took another bite and savored it for a moment. "The tartness of the apricot adds quite a touch."

Betty smiled with satisfaction. "I'm so glad you like it, Neil."

_THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP!_

An impatient fist pounded at their front door.

Neil glanced at Betty. "Are you expecting company?"

She shook her head.

_THAP! THAP! THAP!_

"Wonder who it could be right here at dinner time." Neil set down his fork, daintily patted his lips with a napkin, and rose from the table.

He made his way through their spotless, two-story Victorian home to the foyer and plastered on a smile as he pulled open the decorative glass door. His smile immediately disappeared. "Goodness gracious, Lester, are you alright?"

Their next door neighbor, Lester Stokes, stood before him, trembling. Lester's hands were behind him, hidden from Neil. Sweat poured from his forehead. His argyle sweater and khaki pants were drenched in red.

"Lester," Neil Henderson repeated. "What's happened?"

"I'm sorry, Neil," Lester whispered. His green eyes were eerily distant. "I'm so sorry."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't wanna do this. I don't wanna."

"What?"

Lester closed his eyes and moved a bloody kitchen knife from behind his back. In one swift motion, he sliced into his own forearm, then into Neil's. He grabbed his neighbor's bleeding arm and pressed it against his own, forcing their blood to mix.

"Lester!" Neil gasped, trying to pull away from the deranged man. "What in the name of-"

Using the same bloody knife, Lester Stokes stabbed himself in the chest.

Neil jumped back, horrified as he watched his neighbor die on his welcome mat.


	52. 1x11, II: Dirty Laundry

_Fluff 'n' Fold Laundromat,_

_Hartselle, Texas._

Dean sat at a round plastic table in the center of the empty washateria, the latest edition of _The Houston Chronicle _lying open in front of him_._ However, he wasn't paying much attention to the headlines. Chewing on the retractable end of a Pilot G-2 gel pen, he stared at Jennifer as she emptied their bag of dirty laundry onto the sorting table.

She was unaware that he was watching her. Her back faced him as she sorted through their smelly pile of clothes and divided them according to color. Then she surprised him by stuffing her hands into the pockets of his unwashed jeans.

Dean tossed down the pen. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Checking to make sure your pockets are empty."

"Uh…why?"

She turned to look at him. "Because there might be something in them that doesn't need to go in the washing machine." She continued digging around. After a moment, she sighed. "Like this." Jennifer withdrew her hand from the left pocket and held up a twenty-dollar bill for him to see.

His eyebrows arched. "Oh."

"Yeah. Always a good idea to check." She slipped the bill into a pocket of the jeans she was wearing.

"I totally saw that."

She smiled to herself, closed up the zipper of Dean's dirty jeans, and set that pair aside. "It's a good idea to zip the zippers, too, so they don't snag the other clothes."

"Thank you, Martha Stewart."

Jennifer moved on to his other pair of jeans. She checked the pockets and rolled her eyes. From the right pocket, she removed a stick of Big Red gum and a crumpled receipt from Al's Roadside Diner. From the left, a book of matches. She threw the items at him.

He caught the chewing gum, but the receipt and matches landed beneath the table. He grinned. "What'd we do without you?"

"I don't wanna know."

Dean unwrapped the stick of Big Red and popped it into his mouth.

About a minute later, the front door of the laundromat beeped, alerting them that Sam had arrived.

"All the gas mart had was Tide," Sam said, placing a bottle of Tide liquid detergent on the sorting table with the clothes.

"Perfect," Jennifer said. "Thanks."

"Sure." Sam slid a chair away from the table and joined his brother. "So, uh, big news, guys. While I was out, I gotta call from Ellen. She thinks they might have a lead on the demon."

"Really?" Dean asked.

He nodded. "Friendship, Virginia. The place has been crawling with demonic omens for over a week, and yesterday, a guy showed up on his neighbor's doorstep, stabbed his neighbor's arm, _and _stabbed himself. The weird thing is, according to the victim, Neil Henderson, the guy cut himself _before _he cut Neil, then he purposefully bled into his cut. _Then _he stabbed himself in the heart."

"Blood-to-blood contact?" Dean asked.

"Yep. And there have been at least two more incidents in Friendship like it in the past couple of days."

"Huh. Sounds familiar, doesn't it, Sammy? The people killing each other, bleeding on each other? Like that Croatoan virus."

Sam gulped. "Yeah."

Before Jennifer had a chance to ask the Winchesters to elaborate, Dean said, "A little over two years ago, we worked a job in Oregon with the same details. Turned out to be some sorta demonic virus, spread through blood-to-blood contact and only traceable by the presence of sulfur in the bloodstream. Once you're infected, you go bonkers and start killing people." He paused. "We never figured out exactly what caused it." He stared at his brother. "Or why Sam was immune to it."

Judging by the look on Sam's face, he was a little uncomfortable with Dean revealing yet another family secret to Jennifer. But he said nothing.

"Anyway," Dean said, "I don't know if Yellow Eyes is there or not, but it's sure as hell worth lookin' into. And if this _is _another outbreak of that virus, we don't need to walk in there alone this time. We need help."

Sam heaved a sigh. "That's what I thought too, but Ellen's stuck at the Roadhouse. I called Bobby, and he's already working a case in Michigan. He said he knew of a guy in Maryland who might be able to drive down and help us out…"

Dean thought about it for a second. "I don't know, man, things always go south when we bring in strangers."

"Thanks a lot," Jennifer said.

"No offense."

"I think we'd be better off working alone," Sam said, "especially since we don't even know what this thing is yet."

"Okay," Dean said. "But I've gotta bad feeling about this."

* * *

_Salisbury Way,_

_Friendship, Virginia._

_The next day._

Dean guided the Impala down the suburban street, headed for the home of Neil and Betty Henderson. The scenery was every bit as charming as the name of the town. White picket fences. Perfectly manicured lawns. BMWs in the driveways. Beautiful Victorian-styled houses painted in cheerful, pastel hues.

The Impala screeched to a stop at 119 Salisbury Way. Dean shifted into park, shut off the engine, and climbed out of the car with Sam and Jennifer. He whistled as he stared at the impressive sage green gingerbread house before them. "Man. How'd we end up on Wisteria Lane? This place has Bree Van de Kamp written all over it."

Both Jennifer and Sam stared at Dean, surprised by his knowledgeable _Desperate Housewives _reference.

"I'm just sayin'," he went on, tugging at his black necktie. "This doesn't exactly look like the setting for a Biblical plague."

The three of them followed the hydrangea-lined sidewalk to the front porch. Sam rang the doorbell. Prepared to flash their fake badges and introduce themselves with whatever rock aliases Dean felt like at the moment, they waited for Neil or Betty Henderson to answer the door. But after a few more rings and knocks, no one came.

Sam pulled out his lock picking set. As he worked on the lock, Jennifer glanced around the neighborhood.

"Listen," she told the Winchesters.

They did. And heard nothing but suspiciously silent silence. No rotating sprinkler heads. No barking dogs. Nothing.

"It's creepy, isn't it? No cars on the road. No kids in the yard. No old people on front porches," Jennifer pointed out. "It's late afternoon in the middle of July, and there's no one around anywhere."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "It is creepy."

_CLICK!_

"Got it," Sam informed them. He twisted the doorknob and let them inside. "Mr. Henderson?" Sam called out as they stepped into the foyer. "Mrs. Henderson? Anyone home?"

They received no answer.

"This can't be good," Jennifer murmured.

The trio quietly moved through the living room, to the dining room, then to the kitchen, where they found the bodies.

Neil and Betty Henderson lay in the floor, surrounded by puddles of crimson. In Neil's right hand, they discovered the small handgun that had ended their lives.

Sam heaved a sigh. "Neighbor bleeds on him, then this happens. Looks to me like Neil was infected."

Dean grimaced as he eyed the corpses. "This doesn't make sense. I mean, why is this happening? Again? And why, of all places, is it happening here? In friggin' suburbia?"

After Sam's Christmas spent with the Trickster, he had an idea why it might be happening. The Trickster had told him the demons would wipe out humanity by releasing the Croatoan virus in all the major cities. He hoped this wasn't the beginning of the end. He prayed it wasn't.

A distant gunshot startled them.

They ran outside, following the sound of the blast. Sam was certain it had come from the house across the street, so he led the way.

The house across the street was slightly larger than the Hendersons' and pale yellow in color. With its handcrafted white shutters and petunia-holding window boxes, it, too, seemed a remarkably odd place for a shooting. As Dean, Sam, and Jennifer burst inside the house, they halfway expected to run into a sweet little granny baking a fresh batch of oatmeal cookies. Unfortunately, they didn't.

Instead, they discovered a well-furnished, antique-styled living room occupied by a group of five adults, all different ages and genders. One of the five, a middle-aged man, lay facedown on an expensive-looking oriental rug in a pool of his own blood. Another of the five, a middle-aged woman, towered over him with a shotgun. She raised it to Jennifer and the Winchesters as they entered the room.

"Whoa! Don't shoot!" Dean told the lady, throwing his hands up. "We heard a gunshot and-"

"Who are you?" the woman with the gun shouted.

Jennifer didn't miss a beat. "We're with the police department. We-"

The woman's face paled. She lowered the gun. "Police? This isn't how it looks! Mr. Zimmerman wasn't himself!"

"Listen," Dean spoke up. "We came by because we've gotten several reports of disturbances in the neighborhood. We found Mr. and Mrs. Henderson's bodies across the street. Then we heard a gunshot coming from…well, you. You wanna tell us what's goin' on?"

"Maybe after we see some ID," a chubby man, probably in his late thirties, chimed in.

"Of course," Sam said. He reached into a pocket of his navy sport coat and removed a convincing fake police badge. Dean and Jennifer did the same.

The gun-toting woman's lips quivered but her aim remained steady. "Something's wrong with everybody." She swallowed hard. "Everybody but us."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked.

"Mr. Zimmerman here," she nodded toward the dead man, "I've known him for twenty years. One of the nicest people I've ever met." Her eyes misted over. "Today, he killed his wife and his daughter. Then he came at poor Abigail with a knife…" She turned to an attractive young redhead, presumably Abigail, seated on the sofa next to the chubby man. "I-I stopped him before he hurt her too."

"The whole street's gone mad," the chubby man said. "This morning, my cleaning lady tried to drown me in her mop bucket. I barely made it out of there alive."

"Where's your cleaning lady now?" Sam asked.

"Out there. Somewhere. Plotting with the rest of them."

"So, you're all hiding here?" Jennifer wanted to know.

Chubby Man nodded. "After Juanita- my cleaning lady- attacked me, I made a run for it. When I got outside, I found Abigail running from her dad. And Wayne running from Mrs. Sykes. Mrs. Sykes is eighty-two years old, and she was chasing Wayne with a shovel like it was nothing."

"Wayne's my husband," the woman with the gun said, pointing at the gray-haired guy propped against the stone fireplace. "And I'm Elsa." She finally dropped the shotgun by her side. "The four of us are the only sane ones left, so we decided to stick together."

"Good idea," Dean said.

"But we thought Mr. Zimmerman was sane, too," pretty young Abigail said. "He came running over with his family. He said they were being chased, like us. We let them in and…an hour later…he turned." Her eyes stared hollowly at the hardwood floor. "He killed his family right in front of us."

Jennifer studied the room suspiciously. "Where are the bodies?"

"In the dining room," Elsa replied. "It happened in there."

Glancing over her shoulder out the window at the empty street, Jennifer asked, "Why is it so quiet out there? I mean, you made it sound like chaos. Where is everybody?"

Chubby Man shrugged his shoulders. "We don't know. It's been quiet out there for about two hours."

Jennifer didn't know what to make of the situation. She looked at Dean for help. Dean turned to Sam who responded with a slight shrug.

After a brief hesitation, Dean cleared his throat and took charge. "Alright. Everybody stay put. My partner and I will go check things out, see exactly what we're up against, while-"

"No," Chubby Man said. "You can't go out there. I don't care if you are cops. Just because you can't see them or hear them doesn't mean they're not out there. They're probably holding up in one of the houses, just like we are, trying to figure out how to take all of us out."

"Or maybe they all killed each other," Wayne spoke for the first time.

The room went silent.

Elsa's eyes widened as she peered out the window. "I don't think so."

Everyone turned.

At first there were two, standing at the edge of the lawn next to the fire hydrant. Then there were four. Then seven. At least ten people armed with a variety of weapons roamed Salisbury Way, keeping their eyes on the group's hideout.

"I told you," Chubby Man said. "You can't go out there."

"Maybe not," Wayne said, "but couldn't you call for backup or something?"

"Wayne, the phone lines are out," Elsa told him.

"They're cops, Elsa, they'll have a radio," Wayne said.

"It's in the car, which is parked down the street," Sam said. He extracted his cell phone from his belt clip and flipped it open. _No signal_. He sighed. "And I'm not getting a signal on my cell."

Both Dean and Jennifer checked their phones and made the same discovery.

Jennifer bit her lip. "Would you all excuse us for a moment?" she asked the group. "My fellow detectives and I need to assess the situation in private." She pulled the brothers into the kitchen and lowered her voice. "What are we gonna do?"

"Well, we can't just sit here with our thumbs up our asses," Dean said.

"Then what?" Jennifer asked. "What _can _we do? We can't call for help, we can't leave-"

"Look, we're all packing heat. I say the three of us go out there and fight," Dean said. "There's not even that many of them. I think we can handle a few crazies."

"A few crazies? _Dean_. Don't be an idiot about this."

"Jennifer's right," Sam said. "That's a dumb idea. There's gotta be more of them out there. They said the whole street's gone crazy. From the sound of it, they've practically formed an army. We'll be way outnumbered."

Jennifer nodded. "Plus, it'll be dark soon. And what about these people?" She cocked her head toward the living room where the four refugees and the dead man were. "We can't just leave them alone."

Sam heaved a sigh. "Nobody's going anywhere," he said. "Not yet."


	53. 1x11, III: Infected

The seven refugees held up in the living room, afraid to let each other out of sight. The atmosphere of the hideout, which turned out to be the home of Elsa, the gun-toter, and her gray-haired husband Wayne, was, in one word, tense.

Dean and Jennifer occupied the two leather wingback armchairs in the room while Sam sat alone on the matching loveseat, attempting to explain the situation to the group. Elsa, Abigail, and the chubby man, whose name was Vincent, sat straight-backed on the sofa, listening nervously. And Wayne continued to lean against the fireplace mantel, too anxious to sit.

"-anyway, whatever this is, this…disease…it's spreading through blood-to-blood contact," Sam told the group. "If you've been bled on, you're probably infected."

Vincent's doughy face was laden with concern. "Does the CDC know about this?"

Dean frowned. "I'm gonna go with 'no' on that one."

"It all sounds like some sorta terrorist plot, you know?" Elsa said. "Like that big anthrax scare."

"Yeah, well, this is scarier than anthrax," Sam said. "Once you're infected, you go on a killing rampage, just like your neighbors did. And there's no way to stop it. There's no cure."

Dean nodded his head. "That's right. You get infected, you're a goner."

No one knew what to say to that.

As they sat in uneasy silence, Jennifer glanced around the room at the fear-stricken faces. Abigail nervously gnawed on her bottom lip. Vincent's leg bounced anxiously. Elsa couldn't seem to stop wringing her hands.

Just watching the others made Jennifer nervous. She had to do something to ease the tension. "Uh, Elsa?" she spoke up. "Why don't we make some snacks? I'm sure everyone could use something to eat."

"Yes," Dean concurred with enthusiasm. "Everyone certainly could."

Jennifer forced a smile as she stood to her feet. Elsa followed suit. "Abigail, you wanna come with us?" Jennifer asked.

After a brief hesitation, Abigail nodded. "Sure."

The three women headed to the kitchen and began searching for food.

"A distraction is a good idea," Elsa told Jennifer. "Anything to get our minds off this mess for a moment or two." She pulled open the refrigerator door. "I've got a pound of sliced turkey and a fresh pack of cheddar. We can make sandwiches."

"Sounds good," Jennifer said. She turned to the red-haired young woman beside her. "Abigail, is that alright with you?"

Abigail just nodded.

"Here, sweetie, why don't you get bread out for everyone?" Elsa suggested, handing a loaf of sliced sandwich bread to Abigail. Jennifer watched as Abigail removed the wire tie from the bread package with trembling hands. The tie slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor. Both Jennifer and Abigail knelt to pick it up.

In the process of bending over to retrieve the bread tie, the sleeve of Abigail's blouse slid up and revealed a deep cut on her left forearm. An open, bleeding cut.

Jennifer struggled to control her reaction. She quickly grabbed the tie from the linoleum tile and made up an excuse to leave. "You know, I'm thinking Sam is lactose intolerant. Let me find out if the cheddar will be a problem for him." She dropped the tie in Abigail's open palm. "I'll be right back."

She slipped into the living room, went straight to Dean, and tapped him on the shoulder. When he turned to look at her, he immediately realized something was up.

So did everyone else in the room.

"We need to talk," she whispered.

Dean motioned for Sam to guard Wayne and Vincent as he rose to his feet and followed Jennifer out of the living room. They went toward a hallway that probably led to a couple of bedrooms and stopped once they were out of the group's earshot.

"Abigail's bleeding," she said.

"What?"

"I think she's infected."

"What happened?"

"I don't know. I hadn't noticed it before, but she has a cut on her arm. Didn't someone say her dad was infected?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I think so."

"Then maybe he infected her. What do we do?"

"Well," he said, "we can end her before she Hulks out and kills one of us."

"You mean kill her."

"I'm not seeing any other options here."

"But she might _not _be infected."

Dean frowned at her. "But you just said-"

"I know what I said, but I don't know for sure that she is. I just know that she's bleeding."

"Exactly. Bleeding. Which means we've gotta take every precaution. And, like it or not, that may involve icing her."

Jennifer sighed. "Can't we just tie her up and keep her somewhere for a while? That way, if she's infected, she can't hurt us, and if she isn't infected…what harm could it do? At least nobody else would die."

"You sound exactly like Sam."

"We can't kill her, Dean. Not when we don't know if she's infected."

He drew in a deep breath and released it as he whipped around and started toward the kitchen. Jennifer, now more nervous than before, chased after him.

They walked in to find Abigail and Elsa busily spreading mayonnaise onto sliced bread.

"Abigail," Dean told the younger of the two, aware of the mayo-covered knife the girl held in her hand. "You need to come with us."

Elsa glanced up fast. "What's going on?"

Dean ignored her. "Come on, Abigail." He touched her arm.

The redhead didn't flinch. She kept her eyes on the bread and continued smearing the thick, white condiment across its surface.

Jennifer swallowed hard as she focused on the knife in Abigail's hand. Slowly, carefully, she drew her hand to the holster hidden by her suit jacket and found the grip of her Smith & Wesson pistol.

"You wanna tell us where you got that cut?" Dean asked the girl.

"_Cut?_" Elsa shrieked and jumped back. Her eyes frantically looked Abigail over. She spotted a patch of red on the girl's sleeve. "My God, she's bleeding!"

Sam rushed into the kitchen, gun in hand. Vincent and Wayne tagged along behind him.

"Abigail's infected?" Vincent asked.

With one hand, Dean tightened his grip on the redhead's shoulder. With the other, he pulled his own gun on her. "Are you?"

Abigail remained silent.

Then, without warning, she parted her lips and released a terrifying, animal roar as she spun around, aiming the knife at Dean's chest.

_BANG! BANG!_

With a crazed look in her sea green eyes, Abigail collapsed to the floor, fatally wounded by two shots from Dean's handgun.

The remaining six people gaped at each other, all thinking the same thing.

Abigail had been on the inside, hiding with them for hours. If she was infected, any one of them could be.

* * *

"Man, I'm starving," Dean complained as the remaining six huddled together in the living room. "Why'd the infected chick have to make the sandwiches? Bleeding all over the place with her damn open wound…"

"'The infected chick?'" Vincent, the chubby man, quoted. "Anybody in this room could be infected. Why does it matter if Abigail made the sandwiches?"

"How can you even think about sandwiches at a time like this?" Wayne tossed at Dean.

"Well, I don't know about you there, Wayne," Dean said, frowning, "but I can think a hell of a lot better when my stomach isn't trying to eat my intestines."

"At any given moment, anybody in this room could wig out and try to eat your intestines," Vincent retorted. "Try concentrating on that."

"Okay, everyone, please," Sam interrupted. "Stop arguing. We're supposed to be on the same side here."

"Yeah, supposed to be," Vincent repeated. "But so was Abigail. Now we can't trust each other. We can't trust anyone."

"Oh, come on, man, don't start the whole 'trust no one' speech again," Dean groaned. "We get it. Any of us could be a monster in disguise. Now shut the hell up."

"Gosh, Dean, you think you tone it down a little?" Jennifer asked.

"Really," Elsa agreed. "How much profanity can you use in thirty seconds?"

"A hell of a lot more than that, lady."

Wayne thought for a moment. "He's angry. Really angry. You think that's a sign he's turning?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "You've gotta be kidding me."

"Look, it's _not _a sign that he's turning," Sam sighed. "It's a sign that he's pissed 'cause he hasn't eaten since lunch."

"Thank you!"

"Listen, buddy, we've all got our problems. I haven't slept in two days, and you don't see me griping about it," Vincent said.

"None of us have slept in days," Elsa added. "We're all exhausted."

"Then take a freakin' nap!" Dean growled.

"Oh, my gosh," Jennifer breathed. She rubbed her temples, trying to massage away a growing headache. "Could everyone _please _shut up?"

"Actually, a nap sounds like a dang good idea," Wayne said. "Everyone could certainly use one."

"Yeah," Elsa said. "But I doubt any of us could sleep, considering the circumstances."

Wayne jumped up from his chair. "I'm willing to give it a try. This is a big house, Elsa. We've got plenty of room for everyone to go off by themselves, lock the doors, and get some rest."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Vincent said. "We're no good like this, that's for sure."

Dipping his head in agreement, Wayne said, "There's two bedrooms on this floor, one more and the master suite upstairs, plus a bonus room with a pull-out couch. Plenty of room for everyone, like I said. And someone can stay awake down here and keep watch." He headed for the staircase. "I call the master. Elsa, honey, you coming with me?"

Elsa was reluctant to answer. "Uh…no," she finally stammered. "No, Wayne, I don't believe so. Not tonight. You go ahead."

Although Wayne was pained by his wife's response, he shrugged his shoulders and continued up the stairs.

Elsa stared at the floor, feeling guilty over the decision to not sleep with her husband. "I guess I'll take one of the rooms down here." She drifted away from the group, toward the hallway. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Elsa," Jennifer told her.

Vincent grunted as he pushed himself up from the sofa. "I'll be fine with the pull-out couch upstairs. That way you all can have beds."

"How chivalrous of you," Dean snarled.

"You, especially, need some rest," Vincent told him. He said nothing more as he ascended the stairs, bound for the bonus room.

Jennifer and the Winchesters were alone.

"Well," she sighed, "what now?"

"Do you wanna try to sleep for a while?" Sam asked her.

"No. I don't think I could if I tried."

Sam nodded with understanding. He looked at his brother. "I agree with Vincent, Dean. You're in a rotten mood, and you need to get some rest."

Dean's eyebrows shot up. "A 'rotten mood'? Ya think? We're camping out in some house on freakin' Wisteria Lane, except there's no hot housewives, there's no food, and we're surrounded by an army of crazy, gun-wielding neighbors who've got some kinda demonic virus pumping through their systems. So, yeah, Sam, I'm in a rotten mood. And don't think for one second that I'm gonna take a damn nap." He stopped to breathe. "But I'll tell you what I _will _do. I _will _raid that kitchen and find myself something to eat."

"Great," Sam said, his voice filled with frustration. "Go find yourself a snack. And while you're rummaging around through Wayne and Elsa's cabinets, why don't you look for some salt? That'd be helpful. You know, so that we can line all the doorways and windowsills like we already should have done?"

"Okay," Jennifer said. "Let's try to calm down. We'll salt the entrances, then we'll try to stay awake."

Dean glanced out the window that faced the street. Almost invisible in the blackness of the night, the army of crazy, gun-wielding neighbors remained vigilant on the front lawn. "Try to stay awake, huh? That shouldn't be too hard."

* * *

The three hunters spent the next two hours camping out in the living room, cleaning their guns, waiting for something to happen. But nothing happened.

Until Jennifer went upstairs to use the restroom.

The trip to the bathroom was uneventful. She located it easily, even with the lights turned down low. Once inside, she flipped on the light, closed the door, locked it, and relieved herself. She flushed the toilet. Washed her hands. Glanced at a painting of a lush rose garden that hung by the door before exiting the restroom.

On her way back to the staircase, she heard a noise behind her. A soft thump. She spun around. There was nothing out of the ordinary, so she decided to keep going.

_Thump, thump. _

Jennifer stopped and turned again. Though her view of the hallway hadn't changed, she knew something was wrong.

_Thump._

She swallowed. She reached for her pistol and moved down the hall, following the sound. The deeper into the corridor she went, the stronger her feeling became.

Evil was near.

Jennifer gripped her handgun tightly and kept moving.

The door at the end of the hallway was open just a crack. It was too dark to be sure, but she guessed it was a bedroom, perhaps the master suite in which Wayne was staying. There appeared to be a faint light on inside the room. Very faint. It might have been only moonlight streaming through an open window.

She _knew _the evil was in there.

And Dean and Sam were downstairs, leaving her alone to face it. She was tempted to dash back to the stairs, scream to get their attention, or fire a shot for the same purpose. But she knew that would only give the intruder a chance to get away or an opportunity to kill her.

So. She gulped a second time and tried to steady her shaky hands as she walked toward the door, the grip of her gun growing wet with perspiration. She reached the door and peered through the crevice.

It was a bedroom. The king-sized bed suggested it was the master suite after all. But the bed that should have held Wayne was empty.

Her heart fluttered. She held her breath, said a prayer, and pushed open the door. She tiptoed inside, fearing the worst. But the room was clear.

The faint light had not come from the moon, but from the light in the adjoining master bath. As soon as Jennifer noticed that, she knew the evil had been in the bathroom.

_Had been_. She realized the evil presence she had sensed was now gone.

But there was still something in the bathroom. She felt it as she crept closer, clenching her gun so tightly that her knuckles ached. Slowly, with her finger on the trigger, she rounded the corner.

Blood. Lots of it, splattered all over the bathroom floor. All around Wayne.

Wayne screamed.

Jennifer was so shocked by the cry that she pulled the trigger and shot the wall. Then she realized the scream had not come from Wayne. Wayne was dead. The scream had come from Vincent, the chubby man standing right behind her. When he had entered the room, she did not know.

"She's one of them!" Vincent screamed, running for the door. "She killed Wayne!"

Dean and Sam darted into the room, guns drawn.

"What happened?" Dean demanded. "We heard a gunshot."

"She killed him!" Vincent yelled. "She's infected!"

Jennifer threw up her hands. "No! I just found him like this!"

Elsa burst through the door with her shotgun and found Jennifer standing over her husband's dead body.

"I swear, I just found him!" Jennifer defended herself. "I heard a-"

"I came in here and found her standing over Wayne's body," Vincent cut in. "You just said you heard a gunshot. She's holding _a gun, _for crying out loud! She's infected!"

Dean and Sam exchanged glances.

"She's infected!" Vincent repeated.

"No!" Jennifer pleaded.

Elsa glanced at her husband's corpse. Then at Jennifer. Then at the gun in Jennifer's hand. "You killed him."

"No, I didn't! He was already-"

"I heard the gunshot!" Elsa cried, aiming her shotgun at Jennifer.

Dean stepped forward. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, put down the gun, Elsa."

"No, don't listen to him, Elsa. She's infected!" Vincent hollered again. "She'll kill us next!"

Jennifer shook her head helplessly. "But I didn't-"

Elsa fired the gun.

The slug hit Jennifer with a loud smack, and the impact sent her toppling backwards.

Dean nearly knocked Elsa down as he yanked the shotgun from her and tossed it to the carpet. He ran to Jennifer and knelt at her side.

"What are you doing?" Vincent cried, trying to stop him.

Sam held Vincent and Elsa back.

Dean slipped his arm under Jennifer's shoulder and lifted her head. "Hey." She grunted as he pulled her into his arms. "Hey. Jennifer?" He gasped when he saw his hands covered in her blood.

"Her blood is all over him!" Vincent shouted. "He's infected too!"

"Shut up, you stupid son of a bitch!" Dean yelled at him.

"But he's right," Elsa said. "We've gotta get rid of both of them."

"No," Sam jumped in. "You're not 'getting rid' of anyone."

"But she killed Wayne," Elsa argued. "We know that. We know she's infected, and if her blood is on Dean, then he's infected too."

Sam glanced at Dean and Jennifer. At the blood that now soaked both of them. "But we don't know for sure. We can't hurt them."

"Then lock them up so they can't hurt us," Vincent suggested.

Sam looked back at Dean. For all he knew, they _were _infected. They _had _heard a gunshot and walked in to find Jennifer holding a gun over Wayne's body. He knew they couldn't take any chances.

* * *

A guilt-ridden Sam stared into the musty, lightless attic to which Dean and Jennifer had been committed. He swallowed hard as he looked at Jennifer, then at his brother. "I'm sorry."

Dean squatted down on the floor and sat next to Jennifer. He shrugged his shoulders. "At least we'll be safer than you'll be."

Sam did not respond. He turned away and closed the attic door. Locked it from the outside. He sighed as he looked at the latch. When he became aware of Vincent and Elsa's presence, he glanced away from the lock and twisted to face them. "Okay," he said. "They should be fine in there."

Vincent smiled. "Good." His eyes flashed black. "'Cause we've got a little business to take care of."

Blackness filled Elsa's eyes as well as she slammed the butt of her shotgun into Sam's forehead, knocking him unconscious.


	54. 1x11, IV: Quarantine

Sam's eyes fluttered open. A bright, golden glow forced him to squint.

As his eyes adjusted to the light of an antique Tiffany table lamp, Sam made out a stone fireplace. A blood-stained, expensive-looking, oriental rug. Two leather wingback armchairs and a matching loveseat.

He realized he was in the living room of Wayne and Elsa's home, seated on the couch. Two black-eyed demons occupying the bodies of Elsa and Vincent sat on either side of him.

Then he noticed there was another man in the room. A bald man Sam had never seen before. The mystery man, who wore a pale blue button-down and khakis, stood by the fireplace, grinning at him.

"Well, well. Look who finally decided to join us," the bald man said. His blue eyes turned yellow. "Howdy, Sam. Good to see ya."

* * *

Jennifer sat on the dusty wooden floor of the attic, slumped against the wall. Dean was right beside her, pressing a towel Sam had gotten for them against her gunshot wound.

Although it was painful and she had lost a lot of blood, the wound was not as serious as it could have been. The slug had hit just below her left clavicle and gone clean through, miraculously missing major veins and arteries.

Dean lifted the towel to check out the current condition of the wound. "Looks like the bleeding's slowing down. That's good." He set the cloth back down and reapplied pressure. She flinched at his touch. "Sorry." He looked into her eyes. "How you holding up?"

"Alright, I guess." She drew in a deep breath. "I mean, it could be worse. A lot worse."

"It sure could. I know this ain't exactly a walk in the park, but you're lucky." He depressed the towel.

She reached for it. "I've got it."

"You sure? It needs pressure."

She looked down at herself, at the bleeding hole located uncomfortably close to her boob. She already felt exposed, alone with Dean, her torso covered by only the thin, spaghetti-strapped black camisole she'd been wearing under the professional get-up she'd been stuck in all night. "I'm sure." She managed a smile. "I'm too worried you're gonna try to cop a feel."

Dean grinned. "Can't say it hasn't crossed my mind."

Jennifer grimaced as she pulled the towel to her chest.

He scooted toward the wall and leaned against it, placing them shoulder to shoulder. "I can't believe she shot you."

"Me neither."

He sighed. "But I knew it was bound to happen some time. You getting shot. This is the kinda stuff I've warned you about since the start."

"I know. You told me you didn't want my blood on your hands. At the time, I thought it was a metaphor. But tonight…I see that it was pretty darn literal."

"Yep. Unfortunately."

"I'm so sorry."

Dean looked at her. "Sorry? That you came along anyway and ended up here, stuck with me, nearly bleeding to death in a dark attic that smells vaguely like cat pee?"

"No," she said. "I'm sorry I was so dense that I didn't take you seriously. That I didn't listen to you." She paused for a second. "But I guess if I _had _listened, then we wouldn't be here, would we?" Another pause. "And it probably makes me an idiot, but I still don't regret that."

He just shrugged.

After another bit of silence, she turned her head to face him. "Dean?"

He glanced her way.

"I'm not infected. I didn't kill Wayne."

"Jen-"

"I heard a noise, I went to check it out, and I found him lying there, already dead."

"What about the gunshot we heard?"

"Vincent came up behind me and scared me." She stared at the floor, embarrassed. "I, uh, I fired accidentally."

Dean raised his eyebrows.

"I didn't kill him, Dean. I promise."

He shook his head. "Man. It probably makes me an idiot, but…" His eyes met hers. "I believe you."

* * *

Sam stared at the yellow-eyed demon. "_You _did this?" He clenched his jaw. "You killed all these people?"

Yellow Eyes stuffed his hands into the pockets of his khaki trousers. "Well, now, Sam, it'd be a little narcissistic for me to take all the credit. These people killed each other. I just got things rolling."

"With the Croatoan virus?"

"Yep. 'Demonic germ warfare', right here in Friendship, Virginia."

"Why'd you do it?"

"I had to do _something _to get your attention. Apparently, the dreams stopped working a long time ago."

Sam gulped. "Innocent people are dead because you wanted my attention?"

"Sounds awful, I know, but it's just the way I roll." The demon took a step forward. "I knew you and your brother and your lady friend would come runnin' if something this nasty went down. Plus, it gave me another chance to test the virus." He grinned. "I'd say it's pretty darn effective, wouldn't you?" He leaned against one of the armchairs. "So. Here you are, just as I suspected. That's good. Because we need to have a little chat."

"About what? Your damn plans for me again?"

"What else?" Yellow Eyes removed his hands from his pockets and folded his arms across his chest. "You see, Sam, I had to get my hands dirty for this one, 'cause you've gotta realize that I mean business. You haven't exactly been the most obedient little soldier." His lips curved into a smile. "But, then again, I suppose that's in your nature. You didn't listen to John, either. If you'd obeyed your father, poor little Jessica would still be alive."

"What?"

"Dear old John, God rest his soul, he didn't want you to run off to Stanford, but you did anyway. You just _had _to live your own life, be your own man. When you should have been cruising the country, hunting alongside him and Dean, you were big man on campus, impressing everyone with your freakishly high test scores and getting chummy with Jess. You were all set to marry that little blonde thing, become a tax layer with two kids, a beer gut, and a nice little house in the suburbs a lot like this one." Yellow Eyes heaved a sigh. "But I needed you sharp, on the road, honing your skills. Your gifts. Sweet little Jess got in the way of that. She had to die. If you had only obeyed your father and never gone to Stanford, you would have never met Jess, and she would still be alive."

"How the hell can you turn this on me? _You _killed Jessica!"

"True. But I gave you plenty of warning. Remember those nightmares you had before her death? If you'd listened to those, you might have been able to save her. You know, Sam, you should really start paying attention when people give you instructions. And you know what else?" Yellow Eyes cracked a smile. "Today would be a great day to start."

The demon straightened his posture and came toward the sofa where Sam sat.

Sam tried to move, but the two demons in Vincent and Elsa's bodies took hold of him. "Back off, you-"

"Watch it," Yellow Eyes cut in. "Don't forget, this isn't one of your psychic visions. This isn't one of your nightmares." He reached the sofa and bent down, leveling his face with Sam's. He flashed a smile. "You can't wake up this time, kiddo. So, for the last time, listen up."

* * *

Dean ran his fingers through his hair and blew out some air. "So." He rested his head against the wall. "Looks like we've got some time to kill." A suggestive grin twisted his lips as he looked at her. "You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?"

She sighed. "Probably not."

He stared at the exposed pipes on the wall in front of them. "I wish we had a deck of cards or a crossword puzzle or something."

"Yeah. I know. This sucks."

"How about a quick round of 'I Spy'?"

Jennifer glanced at him, trying to decide whether or not he was kidding.

His eyebrows playfully flicked upward as his eyes began to dart around the room. "I spy with my little eye…something…brown."

Still in denial that they were _actually _playing I Spy, she was hesitant to respond. But she gave the place a once-over anyway, looking for something brown, and found there was nothing to see but walls, pipes, beams, and a stack of three cardboard boxes marked _'Christmas'_. "The boxes?"

"Yeah, but which one?"

"The top one."

"Nope."

"The middle one?"

"Guess again, sweetheart."

She glared at him.

He grinned.

"Looks like we're done with 'I Spy'," she said.

"Well, I did say a _quick _round. 'Truth or Dare'?"

"Uh…no. I'm so not playing that game with you, Dean."

His grin doubled with amusement. "'Twenty Questions'? I'm already thinking of something."

She rolled her eyes once more. "Is it bigger than a breadbox?"

"No." He frowned. "I guess not. What the hell's a breadbox anyway?"

"It's a box for bread."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious."

"Anyway, _I'm _supposed to be the one asking the questions, right?"

"Right. Continue."

"Is it edible?" she asked.

"Yes."

"That was a given. Let me guess. Pie?"

Dean frowned at her again.

"I'm sorry," she said, "but you're not that creative."

"What?" His frown deepened. "I'm plenty creative. You wanna play again? Let's play again. I'll blow your mind with my creativity."

She smiled. "Oh, really? Impress me."

"Go, ask away."

"Is _this thing _edible?"

"...No."

"I think it was and you just changed it."

Dean gave her a dirty look. "Well, there's no way to be sure, now, is there?"

"No. But I'm not feeling very impressed so far. You _said _you'd blow my mind."

"You haven't given me a chance to. You stopped asking questions."

"Okay. If it's not food, is it a type of weapon?"

"No."

"A person?"

"No."

* * *

Yellow Eyes stood upright in front of Sam. "There were ten of you all together. Ten special children, all carefully chosen and gifted with incredible abilities."

"Don't forget poisoned with demon blood," Sam snarled.

"Sam. I'm impressed. Looks like you've been doing some research," the demon said. "But please, no talking. You really do have quite a problem with listening."

Sam swallowed hard and remained quiet.

"Anyway. There were ten of you psychics. And now, finally, it's down to three. Isn't it exciting? The top three contestants, and you're one of them!"

Sam said nothing.

"I've got faith in you, Sam. I know you can make it to first place. But in order for you to do that, you're gonna have to put forth a little effort. Starting with a girl named Lily. I need you to kill her, Sam."

"I'm not going to kill an innocent girl."

"Thought I said no talking." Yellow Eyes glared at him. "I wouldn't call Lily innocent. She killed her girlfriend. She's got demon blood pumping through her pipes." He paused and pursed his lips. "Although, quite frankly, I'm surprised she's made it this far. She doesn't have much potential. Not like you do, Sam. Even with all your flaws, like your unwillingness to do what you're told, I'm rootin' for ya. You're tough. You're smart. You're well-trained, thanks to your daddy." He lowered his voice to an unsettling whisper. "Sam…_Sammy…_you're my favorite."

Sam gritted his teeth.

"You'll find Lily in a place called Payton, Minnesota." He smiled. "Don't disappoint me."

The demon raised a hand and snapped his fingers.

Sam blacked out.

* * *

"-is it made with a tortilla?" Jennifer asked Dean during round five of Twenty Questions.

He sighed loudly. "Yes."

"I think it's a burrito. Am I right?"

"Yeah. You are."

"Wow," she said. "That was only, what, my tenth question?"

"Twelfth, actually," Dean informed her. "I think it's time to stop. _Long _past time."

She nodded.

Dean glanced down at the blood-drenched towel on her chest. "How's it feelin'?"

Her eyes followed his to her wound. She tightened her grasp on the cloth. "Honestly? Not too great. It's kind of hurting worse now than it did before."

"Let me take a look." Very gently, he lifted the towel. "Dammit."

"What?"

"It's still bleeding." He pressed down on the towel with his right hand and used his left to support her other shoulder. "Here, sit up."

She struggled to follow his instructions.

"Come on." Dean eased her up into a ninety-degree angle. Set her back against the wall. "That oughta help some. How do you feel? Are you dizzy?"

"No." She swallowed. "I'm okay."

"Well, just hang in there, alright? Maybe it won't be too much longer. I'm sure Sam's figuring something out. He _is _the brains of the bunch."

They sat in silence for a long while.

"Dean," she began in a small voice. Too ashamed to look at him, she kept her eyes on the floor. "I'm scared."

He glanced at her, surprised by the admission. "Hey, it's-"

"I know we've been in some tight places before, but this time…" She looked down at the towel on her chest. She flinched at the sight of her blood. "This time I'm really scared."

He sighed. "I know. But Sam-"

"What if something happens to him? You said he's immune to the virus. But he's not immune to bullets. He's not invincible." She paused. "This house is surrounded by infected people, Dean, and if Sam can't stop them, they'll come after us. Elsa and Vincent already want us dead- "

"Hey." He looked into her eyes. "Listen to me. It's gonna be okay. Sam knows what he's doing."

"Yeah, but you should be out there helping him. You shouldn't be stuck in here with me. And you _wouldn't _be if you hadn't come to me when I was shot." She shook her head. "Why the crap did you do it? When you knew I might be infected? That I might infect you?"

He turned away. Stared at the cardboard boxes in the corner. "I don't know. I wasn't gonna just let you lay there and die. You're a part of the team. You're one of us now, right?" He paused. "I had to make sure you were okay."

"But you put yourself in completely unnecessary danger."

Dean shrugged. "Remember Des Moines? You came all that way, all by yourself, all because of a nightmare you had. Just to save me." He grinned. "Sounds like completely unnecessary danger to me. I mean, you climbed into a friggin' sewer to save my ass. And that was before you even knew me. You don't have room to judge anybody else crazy decisions."

"Well…I know that it stinks to be here, but…I'm really glad you are." She smiled at him. "I could have easily been left up here alone…to die…" She reached over and squeezed his hand. "So, uh, just…thank you."

He pulled her hand into his. "You're welcome."

To their equal surprise, neither of them let go of the other's hand. They gazed at each other.

Dean felt his heart pounding inside his chest as he looked at her. Even in the smelly, dusty attic, her face stained with blood, dripping with sweat, and haggard with exhaustion, she was beautiful. With her radiant blue eyes. Her long, feminine, brown curls. Her lips. Pretty lips. Soft lips.

Something, some unknown source had been leading the two of them together for over a year, and now, that same force seemed to be moving their faces together. Inch by inch, their lips gravitated toward each other's.

Dean gulped. He moved in closer, letting his eyelids close.

Jennifer did the same.

Just as their lips brushed against each other's, the attic door squeaked open, and Sam stepped inside. "Are you two alright?"

They pulled apart fast.

"Yeah," Dean said. He cleared his throat loudly. "You?"

Sam nodded. "We've gotta get out of here as fast as we can."

"What?" Jennifer asked. "What about all the neighbors outside?"

"They've all disappeared. I don't know what happened, but I blacked out, and when I came to, everyone was gone," Sam sighed. "The dead bodies, too."

Dean considered his brother's words for a moment. "Just like Oregon," he said, pushing himself up from the floor with a groan.

"Yeah. But come on, we don't have time to stand around and talk. We've gotta go." Sam turned to Jennifer. "Can you walk?"

"I think so."

Sam came to her side, and he and Dean helped her to her feet. She stood between them, a weak arm around each of them. Together, they left the attic and made it down the stairs.

The house was still. Just as Sam had said, there was no trace of anyone.

Cautiously, they proceeded to the front door, to the porch, then to the lawn. The silence they discovered was disturbing. The street was completely vacated. The neighbors, every last one of them, had vanished without any indication they had been there in the first place.

The only thing that remained was that horrible, eerie silence.

As fast as they could, the three of them climbed into the Impala and left the town of Friendship.


	55. 1x11, V: Can't Fight This Feeling

_Traveler's Rest Motel,_

_Moffat, Virginia._

_The next day._

"The demon told you to kill her?" Dean asked his brother as the two of them sat alone in their room.

Sam nodded, losing his gaze to the busy red floral print on the teal bedspread beneath him.

"Then we've gotta find this Lily chick and let her know what's going on."

"No." Sam swallowed. "Yellow Eyes wants me to look for her. He _wants _me to find her and go to her. Besides that, I'm not sure letting her in on what's going on is a good idea. She sounds dangerous. We know that she's got some kinda psychic power, and the demon said she's already killed someone."

"Sam, this sounds like someone we _should _be stopping."

"But we can't, Dean. There were ten of us psychics to begin with, and now there's three. Three. And he's trying to narrow it down to one. His one leader for who knows what. If we kill Lily, we're doing what he wants. We're helping him, moving him closer to whatever it is that he's got planned. We can't do that."

Dean gnawed on the inside of his lip as he analyzed their situation. He glanced up at Sam. "Then what do you suggest we do, college boy?"

The younger Winchester drew in a deep breath and released it. "Nothing."

"But come on, man, that's what you've been doing this whole time, and it hasn't exactly been working for you. Isn't that why he dropped the Croatoan virus on all those people? Because you've been ignoring him and his plans for you for the past year? Who knows what he might do if you ignore him now? I mean, look at what happened to Andy. He didn't kill that psychic nurse out in Colorado like he was supposed to, and Yellow Eyes sent Ava after his ass," Dean reminded him. "And what _about _that nurse in Colorado? Yellow Eyes ganked her when she didn't kill Ava. The same thing with Jennifer's telepathic buddy, Trevor Bradley. All of them, Sam, all psychics, all ordered by the yellow-eyed demon to kill other psychics, they all ended up dead for not doing the job."

"I know," Sam said. "But I don't care. I can't do what he wants, Dean. I can't."

Dean sighed. "Damned if you do, damned if you don't."

"We'll just have to be extra careful. Watch our backs. Keep a closer eye on everything, maybe the news for Lily's hometown. But we're _not _going after her. I'm not gonna willingly give in to the demon's plans for me."

Dean had no reply.

Sam returned his glance to the bedspread. "Dean, there's something I've been meaning to ask you about."

"What?"

"Last night, when I opened the door to the attic…I know it was dark, but…I _know _I saw you and Jennifer...kissing."

Dean averted his eyes to the stained teal carpet. "Actually, we weren't kissing...thanks to your timely entrance."

"What's going on with you two?" Sam asked.

Dean scratched the back of his neck.

"Talk to me, man. And it's been like six months since you were dosed with that philtre, so don't even try to use that as an excuse again."

"Sam, I really don't wanna-"

"No, no, no. You're talking." He studied his brother's face intently and was surprised by what he found. Really surprised. His eyebrows jumped up. "Dean? Are you…in love with her?"

Stunned by Sam's question, Dean shot him a look as he very quickly responded, "No. _No._ That's ridiculous."

"Is it?"

"Sam, I think we've got a few more pressing issues to deal with here."

Sam was quiet as he chose his next few words carefully. "Dean, it's been obvious from the beginning that you and Jennifer have something. Maybe neither of you saw it, or maybe you didn't want to see it, but it's been there the whole time." A pause. "Look, I know we're facing something big right now, with the demon, the psychics. Hell, the Trickster showed me the end of the world in five years. I don't know how much time we have left. But I do know that you deserve happiness. And if you can have that with Jennifer, at least for a while, then you should forget how crazy and out of character it is for you, and tell her how you feel."

Dean just stared. "My God, that was cheesy. Did you practice that?"

Sam rolled his eyes and sighed. "Dean. You know it's true. You and Jennifer are great together. Really. And there's no reason why you shouldn't be with each other."

"Yeah, well, I can think of a few," Dean retorted. "For one, it's too dangerous. You and me, we let our 'brotherly bond' cloud our judgment all the time. We'll do _anything _for each other, because we're brothers. If Jennifer and I were...together, as a _couple_, it'd be twice as bad. We'd get each other killed, Sam. We'd let our guard down around each other. We'd make stupid decisions based on our feelings-"

"Oh, you mean like last night?" Sam asked. "When Jennifer got shot, you ran to her. We found her holding a gun, standing over Wayne's dead body. She could have been infected with the Croatoan virus, and she could have infected you, but you ran to her side. You took her into your arms and held her. If it had been anybody else, you would have pulled out your own gun and finished the job." He stared into his brother's eyes. "Why won't just admit it, Dean? It's too late to make excuses. You've already fallen for her."

After sitting quietly for a good thirty seconds, Dean stood from his bed and grabbed his jacket from the motel's rickety wooden coat rack. "Well. Now that you've gone and made things nice and awkward in here, I think I'll leave." He went to the door, yanked it open, stepped outside, and closed it behind him.

* * *

A wave of heat greeted Dean in the motel parking lot. When he'd snatched up his jacket inside the room, he'd forgotten it was late July and ninety degrees outside. He wouldn't be needing his brown leather coat today, for sure.

He stopped outside room number fourteen. Jennifer's room. He looked at the door for a while, trying to decide if he should take Sam's advice or keep walking. He was definitely leaning toward the latter. After a moment of consideration, he kept walking.

Dean followed the sidewalk, which was lined with ant beds and covered in overgrown weeds, to the vending area located next to the swimming pool. He halted at the snack machine and slipped a few quarters into the slot. Pressed B-4 for a bag of Cheetos.

As he waited for the mechanical arm to retrieve his cheese curls, he glanced at the pool area. That's when he noticed Jennifer, dressed in a powder blue tank top and denim capris, relaxing on a cheap chaise lounge by the diving board.

Dean removed his Cheetos from the machine and headed toward the pool. The pool- that was what the managers of the Traveler's Rest Motel called it. In all actuality, the tank of algae was more like an over-sized bathtub in the ground with a few dingy lounge chairs encircling it.

Even though he was now standing right beside her, Jennifer did not seem to notice Dean's presence. With her eyes hidden behind sunglasses, he wasn't even sure she was awake.

He cleared his throat. "Too bad I didn't bring a swimsuit."

Jennifer jumped. She pulled off her sunglasses and looked up at him, squinting in the sunlight. "Yeah. 'Cause you'd wanna swim in _that _mess. I don't wanna know what's at the bottom of that thing."

"Yeah."

"What are you doing out here?"

"Oh, uh, I was just out for a walk. Got me a snack." He held up the Cheetos. "Want some?"

"No, thanks."

He shrugged and tore into the bag. As he stuffed a handful of cheese curls into his mouth, his eyes wandered to the bandages protruding from the neckline of her blouse. "How's your, uh, your wound?"

"It's okay. I took some Ibuprofen."

"I still think you shoulda gotten it looked at. You took a slug to the chest, for Pete's sake."

"You and Sam dressed it as well as any doctor could have. And you make it sound like I was shot in the heart or something. It wasn't _that _bad."

"No. But you're walking around, lounging by pools, and workin' on your tan like it was nothing."

"I'm sorry, I'm just trying not to be a baby about it." She swung her feet around to the pavement. "I was about to head back to my room and put some ice on it. You wanna come over and keep me company while you eat your Cheetos?"

"Sure." Dean offered her his hand as she pushed herself up from the low chair.

Jennifer took it. "Thanks."

Together, they strolled along the ant-bed-lined, weed-covered sidewalk in silence. With each wordless step, the tension between them escalated. Just like always. Except that today, after the kiss they had come so close to sharing the night before, the weirdness was more present than ever.

When they were halfway to her room, Jennifer asked, "Do you and Sam have any ideas about where to go now?"

Dean shook his head. "Not yet."

Neither of them knew what to say after that. The silence returned and grew more uncomfortable with each passing second.

Jennifer couldn't stand it. She was tired of the uncomfortable silences that seemed to follow the two of them around. She was sick of the tension, the unmentioned chemistry, and the lack of discussion about whatever it was that they shared. She came to a stop, right outside room number thirty.

Dean did the same. He turned to face her. "What?"

"I'm sorry…it's just…" She trailed off, unsure of how to continue. She looked at the ground. "Last night." She sighed. "Last night, in the attic, right before Sam came in…"

Dean gulped. "Yeah," he breathed. "I've been thinking about that."

She planted her hands on her hips and lifted her eyes to his. "Was that one of those I'm-only-doing-this-'cause-we-might-die things?" She felt her mouth going dry. "Or-" She swallowed hard, which seemed to magically release an army of butterflies in her belly. "Or…did you mean it?"

Dean's eyes widened, surprised by her forwardness.

Her heart hammered inside her chest as she waited for an answer.

Suddenly, Dean launched himself toward her and pulled her face into his hands. Without a blink or even a breath, he pressed his lips to hers.

They kissed.

Slowly, Dean pulled away and stared into her eyes. He wet his lips and uttered five words that took his ears by surprise. "I think I meant it."

* * *

_Antioch, Alabama._

_Late that night._

David Bane was in Montgomery for the Alabama Health Care Association's 61st annual convention, which left his wife, Alma, alone for three days and two nights. It was only the first night, and Alma was already feeling lonely.

She sat in the living room on her oversized, pillow-top sofa with an open photo album in her lap and a stack of several more beside her. All alone in her empty house, she drew comfort from the photographed faces of her absent family members. It was her way of being close to them.

Especially Jennifer.

Alma had not spoken with her oldest daughter in a year. _A whole year_. She could barely believe it had been that long. She was ashamed of herself for going an entire year without bothering to make sure her own child was alright. How could she do that, especially when she knew about the dangerous things that child was doing?

Alma felt like a cold, heartless, sorry excuse for a mother. But that wasn't enough to make her pick up the phone. After all, she _had _kicked Jennifer out.

She flipped through album after album, page after page, of family pictures, taking the time to study each one. Birthday parties. Halloween costumes. Toothless grins. Jennifer as a chunky, bright-eyed baby, a smiling six-year old with a _Little Mermaid _backpack on her first day of school, a high school senior with her cap, gown, and diploma.

Alma blinked back tears. She worried about her daughter. She truly did. Not one of those three hundred and sixty-five days had passed without Alma praying for Jennifer's safety.

She stopped on a photo from Jennifer's senior prom. The theme that year had been "A Night in Hawaii." She had worn an elegant, ruby red strapless ball gown and a matching rose corsage. Looking more beautiful than Alma had ever seen her, Jennifer stood hand in hand with Jay O'Hanegan in front of a backdrop that depicted a sunset with palm tree silhouettes.

As Alma studied her daughter's pretty, innocent image, she wondered how she could have been so clueless about her. Over the years, she and Jennifer had clashed. They had little in common, and Alma never really _got _her. But when she'd overheard Jennifer talking with that mysterious Dean fellow, she had been completely stunned. She didn't understand it. At all. Their talk of ghosts, shape shifters, and psychics. Cheap motels, credit card scams, lying, running from cops, daily brushes with death…

Alma had realized then that she did not know her daughter.

And after a whole year, that hadn't changed.

She sighed and turned the page. More pictures from Jennifer's prom. The dance floor, candid shots of-

The lamp on the end table flickered.

Alma glanced up.

The couch cushion began to vibrate beneath her. The lamp began to shake on its base. Pictures on the walls began to rattle.

The light blinked on and off. On and off. On and off.

The floor rumbled. The stack of photo albums fell from the sofa to the hardwood floor one by one, creating a series of thuds.

Gasping for air, Alma didn't move. She gripped the armrest of the couch, trying to make sense of what was happening.

The lamp blinked off and stayed off.

Suddenly, the rumbling stopped.

Alma sat in total darkness and silence, scared out of her wits. Then the light turned back on and revealed a man in a tan trench coat standing before her.

Terrified, Alma screamed.

"Alma," the man in the trench coat said. His voice was low. Deep. Powerful, yet somehow soothing. "Do not be afraid."

She quieted her scream and looked at the stranger, wondering how he knew her name and why he was in her living room.

"My name is Castiel." He looked back at her with a fiercely intense gaze. His ice blue eyes seemed to cut through her. "I am an angel of the Lord. I have been sent here to bring you instructions."

Alma could say nothing. She gaped at him, trembling, awed into silence.

The angel stood rigidly before her, his features as stoic as a classical Greek statue. "The instructions I am to give you are regarding your oldest daughter."

She gulped. This time, she managed a whisper. "Jennifer?"

"Yes. You must ask her to return home."

Alma's forehead wrinkled with confusion.

The angel Castiel stepped forward. "We need to talk, Alma. About Jennifer. About the decision you made twenty-four years ago and its…repercussions."


	56. 1x12, I: Come On Home, Girl

A/N: Just wanted to say thanks for all the wonderful reviews you guys have been giving me! They're very encouraging. Thank you all for reading.

* * *

**"The Thing That Should Not Be"**

**

* * *

  
**

_Channing Motel,_

_Kansas City, Missouri._

The moment Sam heard movement on the other side of the bathroom door, he flipped off the episode of _Matlock_ he was watching, sat up straight, and turned to look at the restroom door as it squeaked open. Dean came out. A big smile spread across Sam's features.

His older brother was wearing a black suit, a black tie, a white collared dress shirt, and a look on his face that clearly screamed- _Don't you dare say anything, Sam._

Sam kept smiling. "You look nice, Dean. Really nice."

Dean frowned as he tugged on the cuffs of his shirt sleeves. "Shut up."

"I gotta say, I'm surprised by the get-up," Sam said. "When you said you two were going out, I figured it was two-for-one night at the Burger Barn."

Dean glared at him.

"Where in the world are you taking her?"

"Some place called Milligan's."

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "You mean Mulligan's?"

"I guess."

"_Mulligan's? _The one downtown?"

"Yeah."

"Dean, that's one of the nicest restaurants in the entire state of Missouri."

His brow furrowed. "It's so lame that you know crap like that off the top of your head, but yeah. That's what I heard."

"Wow."

"Quit acting so surprised, Sam. I _do _have class."

Sam stifled a laugh. "Dean, your idea of fine dining is an all-you-can-eat buffet."

"Yeah, well…I don't think Jennifer's too crazy about Golden Corral." He glanced at himself in the mirror. "Hence, Mulligan's. Or Milligan's. Whatever the hell it is." He loosened the knot in his black necktie. "I'm losin' the tie."

"Why? It looks nice."

"It's overkill," Dean said, yanking it off. He tossed it at one of the beds. "What are you gonna do all night? Watch _Matlock_ re-runs?"

"I don't know. I'll find something to do. Probably check some headlines again. See if I can find anything interesting." He grinned slyly. "So, does this make it official?"

"What?"

"You know what. Dean, _you_ are going on a date. An actual _date_."

"Oh, shut up."

_Knock, knock. Knock._

Sam's grin doubled in size. "And there she is."

Dean sighed. "Thank you, Sam." He went to the door and pulled it open.

Jennifer greeted him with a smile. She looked lovely in a simple, knee-length black dress and matching patent pumps. The same outfit she'd worn when they'd first met at New Hope Community Church, Dean recalled. "Hey."

"Hey." Dean smiled back. "You look great."

"Thanks. So do you." She poked her head into their room. "Hey, Sam."

Sam waved. "Hey."

"You ready?" Dean asked her.

She nodded.

"Great. See ya, Sammy."

Still grinning, Sam said, "Be home by midnight, you two."

Dean and Jennifer stepped out into the crisp night air, feeling unusually like normal people. Like a normal couple going on a normal date.

"I'm so glad we decided to do this," Jennifer said as they walked to the Impala.

"Me too."

"I think it'll be good for us. But you really shouldn't have planned something so fancy." She grinned. "Golden Corral would have been fine with me."

He turned to her. "Crap. You really _can _hear through those walls."

She laughed softly, turning the palest shade of pink.

Dean was about to say something about his plans to whisper from now on when the intro to Heart's "Magic Man", Jennifer's cell ringtone, interrupted him.

She stopped in her tracks and dug her ringing RAZR out of her purse. When she saw the caller ID, she glanced up at Dean, her eyes huge with surprise. "My gosh, it's my mom."

His eyebrows arched as he came to a halt. "What?"

"It's my mom, Dean, _my mom_. What do I do?"

"Well, I'd start with answering the thing."

Jennifer sucked in a breath and flipped open her phone. After a very long pause: "Hello?" Her voice came out shaky. "Hey, Momma."

Dean fiddled with his car keys as he watched her.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. How are you? It's good to hear from you. It's been…forever." She frowned. "Momma, are you alright? You sound-" She paused, listening to her mother. "Okay. Yeah." Another pause. "Missouri. Kansas City, actually. Would you just tell me what's going on?"

Dean leaned against the Impala.

"Fine, whatever, just calm down," Jennifer spoke into the telephone. "We'll be there soon." She closed the device and slipped it inside her handbag.

"Well?" Dean asked.

She sighed. "She says she needs me to come home again."

"Why? What happened?"

"I don't know. She wouldn't tell me. But she sounded really shaken up about something." Jennifer swallowed. "We haven't talked at all since she kicked me out. It's been a year since then. For her to call and beg me to come back…it must be something serious."

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Alright. Let's pack up and head south."

"But what about tonight? You've gone through so much trouble to make things nice…"

"We'll just have to reschedule. This is your mom," Dean said. "Your family may be in danger."

* * *

_Antioch, Alabama._

_Fifteen hours later._

Dressed in a white terry bathrobe and slippers, Alma Bane sat on the front porch of her home, watching, waiting for Jennifer and the Winchesters to arrive. When she saw the recognizable classic automobile barreling down the street toward her house, she hopped up from her seat and moved to the edge of the porch. She leaned against the wooden handrail, keeping her eyes on the shiny black car as it rumbled into the driveway. It stopped a few feet away from her. The engine cut off.

Jennifer climbed out of the backseat and slung her purse over her shoulder. As she made eye contact with her mother, she tried to smile, but the coldness she found in her mother's eyes prevented her from doing so.

Dean and Sam opened their doors in synch and began exiting the car.

"Don't bother!" Alma yelled at them. "You boys can stay right where you are."

Confused, Jennifer glanced at the brothers then back at her mother. "What?"

"Jennifer, get inside the house," Alma said. "_You two _need to leave."

"Well, it's nice seeing you again too, Mrs. Bane," Dean snarled.

Alma glared at him. "Get out of my driveway. _Now._"

Sam sank back into his seat.

"No," Jennifer protested. "This is ridiculous. Momma, please-"

"Get out of here!" Alma shouted.

"Jeez, we don't have to be told twice," Dean huffed, returning to his spot behind the wheel.

Jennifer looked at him. "Dean-"

"You heard the woman. We'll talk later." He cranked the Impala. "You know where to find us."

She nodded. The Econo Lodge, the only motel in Antioch. As the Winchester brothers backed out of the driveway and headed in the opposite direction, Jennifer whipped around to face her mother, her face flushed with both embarrassment and anger. "What the crap was that?"

Alma heaved a sigh. "I don't want those boys inside my house."

"What? Why?"

"You know why."

"Momma-"

"I don't want you having anything to do with those two. You are to go nowhere near them ever again. Is that understood?"

"I'm sorry, but what-"

"_Is that understood?_"

"No," Jennifer cried, "no, it's not. I don't understand why in the world you're acting like this."

Alma said nothing. She turned and walked across the porch, to the front door, then inside. Reluctantly, Jennifer followed.

"Really, Momma," she persisted. "I don't get it. Dean and Sam are-"

"Just forget you knew them, okay?" Alma said. Now in the living room of the Bane residence, Alma seated herself on the sofa. "I mean it. You've gotta leave the Winchesters alone."

Jennifer didn't know what to say. This argument could and would last for hours if she continued to respond with 'why's. Clearly, Alma viewed Dean and Sam as gun-packing psychopaths who pretended to kill ghosts. She took a deep breath and forced herself to cool off. "Okay, I didn't come all this way to argue about the Winchesters. Why did you call me? What's wrong?"

Alma gulped. "I want you to come home, Jennifer. I want you move back here, with your father and me. I want things to be the way they were." She smiled gently. "I want us to be a family again."

After a full minute of stunned silence, Jennifer bit her lip. "I…I don't get it. You kicked me out, you didn't bother to call me for a whole freaking year, and now, all of a sudden, you want me to come home? To live here, again, after everything that's happened? I just…I don't get it."

Alma's eyes dropped to the floor. "I didn't mean to start things off so badly today. It's just…I've been thinking. About how we left things. Jennifer, I jumped to conclusions. I was so harsh with you that night." She glanced up, teary-eyed. "I should have called you. I know I should have. And I'm so sorry I never did."

Jennifer was quiet.

"I just want us to put all this behind us. The lies, the trips, the Winchesters. You just need to leave it all behind, sweetheart."

"I can't do that."

"You have to. You _have _to, Jennifer."

"Why? Why, all of a sudden, are you doing this? It makes no sense. Where is this coming from?"

"I saw you look at him," Alma said. "Dean? I saw the way you looked at him just now. Oh, I saw it, and I wish I hadn't."

"Saw what?"

"You're in love with him. But you can't be. You can't."

"Momma, please. What are you talking about?"

"Jennifer," Alma pleaded. "Look at me." Her voice fell to a whisper. "Look at me." She did. "You're not meant to be out there on the road with them. Your place is here in Antioch with the people who love you."

"Right." She rolled her eyes. "The people who have so faithfully called me, and checked on me, and been there for me when I needed them most. The ones who offered me shelter when I had nowhere to go-"

"Jennifer, you _will not _keep living like this. You will leave Dean and Sam alone. You will do as you are told, because I am your mother."

"Oh, so _now _you decide to step in and act like my mother."

"I've made some mistakes. I know I have, and I'm sorry. But I am still your mother, and you will do as I say."

"That's it." Jennifer spun around and headed for the door. "I'm leaving."

"This is the work of the devil!"

Jennifer nearly laughed. "You're kidding. The work of the devil? How would you know about the devil? Momma, there is so much out there in the world you don't know about. Things you couldn't even begin to imagine. The things I've seen this past year, the things I've done…" Her frustration was replaced with pity. "I know you think what you're trying to do is best for me, but please, just stop."

Before Alma could get in another word, Jennifer was gone.

* * *

_Room Twelve,_

_Econo Lodge._

"I don't know what happened," Jennifer told the brothers as she lowered herself to the chair beside the window. "When she talked to me, she had this-this…look in her eyes." She sighed. "Gosh, it scared me. It was like she'd lost her mind."

"Well," Dean said, "her college-educated daughter _did _throw away everything to run off with two shady-looking men and hunt demons. Can you blame her for going a little loony?"

Jennifer frowned.

"Dean's right," Sam stated quietly. "We did warn you like a hundred times."

She heaved another sigh and propped her elbows on the table in front of her. "I know. _I know._ It's just-"

Her "Magic Man" ringtone filled the room.

"Great," Jennifer said, reaching for her cell. One glance at the caller ID drew yet another sigh from her. "It's her again." She opened the flip phone. "Yes?"

Though Alma was not on speakerphone, Dean and Sam could hear every word she said from across the room: _"Jennifer, come home! I'm not gonna tell you again! I've got your old room all set up for you. There's clean sheets on the bed. I'm cooking lunch. Now get yourself home!"_

"Momma, I'm not moving back in with you and Daddy," Jennifer argued.

"_Fine. You don't have to. Just get away from the Winchesters."_

Jennifer struggled to control herself. She wanted to scream. "We're done talking about this."

"_I know you're with them. You're with them right now. Jennifer, stay-"_

"Bye, Momma." Jennifer clapped the phone shut and slammed it onto the table, avoiding eye contact with the brothers.

"Wow," Dean finally said. "She really hates us."

Jennifer's cell phone rang again. The caller ID read: _Home_. "Oh my gosh!" She rejected the call and turned the ringer volume to silent. She covered her face with her hands. "This has gotta stop."

"What are you gonna do?" Sam asked.

"I don't know. I don't wanna think about it right now." She sighed one more time before blurting, "Can we eat something? I'm really hungry, and I know you two must be starving."

"Yep. It's definitely lunch time for me," Dean said, happy to change the topic.

Sam scratched his forehead. "I'm not really hungry. Why don't you two go ahead without me? Go on that rain check date."

Dean looked at Jennifer and shrugged. "Fine with me. I don't think there's a place like Mulligan's anywhere around, but if you're still cool with Golden Corral…we drove right by one out on forty-two."

She cracked a smile. "Golden Corral sounds great."


	57. 1x12, II: Smells Like Teen Spirit

_Golden Corral,_

_Just outside Antioch, Alabama._

Jennifer unwrapped her silverware and placed a napkin in her lap as Dean returned from the buffet with a pound of food on his plate and a smile on his face.

"Did you see the dessert bar?" Dean asked her as he slid into his seat. "They have like ten different kindsa pie. And cake. _And _pudding." He picked up his fork and stabbed his rib-eye steak. "This place is awesome."

She half-smiled, happy to see him happy, yet preoccupied with her thoughts. "Yeah. It's pretty nice."

One look at her dampened his excitement. His smile vanished as he gnawed on the tough, overcooked beef. "You still thinkin' about your mom?"

She sighed. "While you were at the bar, I checked my phone. I had seven missed calls from her."

Dean grimaced.

"I don't know why she's acting like this. She's always been a little overprotective and clingy, but this...I just don't get it. I don't know what to do. I don't want to lose her forever, but there's no way I'm ever moving back here."

Dean thought about her words for a moment. "You really mean that?"

"Yes. I do. I've changed. I'm not the same person I was before you and Sam came here. Stuck in some meaningless existence, waiting tables, going to school. There's no way I could ever go back to that. That's not who I am," Jennifer said. "My whole life, my mom has tried to make me into who she wanted me to be. She wanted me to become a nurse, marry Jay, have a couple of big-nosed kids." She paused. "I guess that's why she's freaking out now. I ruined the 'dream life' she had all nicely planned out for me, and now, she's trying to do everything she can to fix it."

"So, what, you're just gonna cut the cords and forget about her? 'Cause bitch or not, she's still your mom."

"Crap."

"Yeah, well-"

"No, not about that." Her eyes stared past him as she squirmed in her seat. "Jay and Brian!"

"What?"

"Jay and Brian are here."

Dean gulped down a bite of yeast roll and looked over his shoulder. "Huh?"

"Don't turn around!"

He wrinkled his nose. "You mean _the Jay_?"

She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Yes, Dean. 'The Jay'."

He frowned. "Speak of the devil."

"They just walked in the door." Jennifer sank into her chair. "Maybe they won't see us."

The moment she spoke the words, the hostess led Jay O'Hanegan and Brian Rodney their way. That's when Brian and Jennifer made unfortunate eye contact. A big smile lit up Brian's face. His hand shot into the air, and he gave her an overly-enthusiastic wave.

Jennifer struggled to return the smile. She watched with dismay as Brian nudged Jay's arm and pointed at her, then in horror as Brian nudged the hostess and pointed at the empty table next to Dean and Jennifer's. "_Crap_."

"Hey, y'all!" Brian Rodney greeted them loudly as he, Jay, and the hostess approached the empty table for two. "Imagine seein' y'all here!"

"Yeah," Dean said through clenched teeth. "Imagine that."

Short and stocky Brian and his handsome big-nosed friend plopped into their chairs as the hostess took their drink orders: sweet tea for Brian, ice water for Jay. After telling them to help themselves to the buffet, the hostess disappeared.

"I thought I recognized yer car out in the parkin' lot," Brian said to Dean. He yanked his camouflage NASCAR trucker cap from his head. He smoothed down his unruly brown bowl cut and stuffed the hat into the front pocket of his matching camo jacket. "Ain't no way I'd ever forget a classic Chrysler like that 'un."

Jay, who was dressed in a pair of ripped, too-tight jeans and a fitted green t-shirt with an Irish flag, a shamrock, and the words '_Go Green' _printed across the front, frowned at his friend. "Brian, that car is _clearly _a Chevrolet, _not _a Chrysler." He turned his smug face to Dean. "A Chevrolet Impala. Fourth generation. 1965 would be my guess."

"'67, actually," Dean said.

Jay ignored the correction.

"So, how are y'all doin'?" Brian asked, his overdone Southern twang growing more painful by the syllable. "Jennifer, we hadn't seen yew in ages. I didn't even know yew was back in town."

Jay glanced at her. "Yeah. What have you been doing all year?"

"Oh, uh, you know." Jennifer began fidgeting with the salt shaker. "Traveling." She forced a smile. "Lots of traveling. Finally taking that big road trip."

"Right. I forgot that about you. You always wanted to get out of Alabama," Jay replied. "The place just never was good enough for you."

Uncomfortable silence followed the insult.

"Well. I dunno about yew, Jay, but I could eat a dang horse here about now," Brian said, attempting to lighten the mood with a cheerful smile. He scooted his chair away from the table and stood to his muddy-boot-clad feet. "I thank we'll go git us some food and come right back."

Dean flashed a fake smile as the pair headed to the buffet. "Can't wait."

* * *

"-and I said, 'I don't thank we kin ketch a snipe with a trap like this!' An' so then, me an' B.J. just gave up an' went home," Brian finished his third unfunny, unamusing tale. No one laughed. No one said anything. Poor Brian sighed. "Yeah, it was a purty crazy day that day. That was before we found out that snipes ain't real."

Jennifer smiled politely.

"Well," Dean heaved a sigh. "On that note, I'm gonna go get some pie." He hi-tailed it toward the dessert bar and didn't look back.

Jay took Dean's absence as an opportunity to delve into Jennifer's personal life. "So, are you dating him now or what?"

The question caught her off guard. "Uh…that's not really any of your business."

"I'll take that as a yes. Why are you dating him? He's totally wrong for you."

Jennifer frowned. "I don't think you're qualified to determine that."

"Any idiot can determine that."

"Oh. Then I guess you _are _qualified."

"Ooooh," Brian cooed. He took a sip of sweet tea. "That was cold right there."

Jay leaned onto the table and stared at her. "I'm just saying, I don't like the guy. There's something about him…like he's hiding something. I don't trust him."

"Could we please talk about something else?" Jennifer suggested.

Jay returned his attention to his salad. He thrust his fork into a chunk of balsamic vinaigrette-covered iceberg lettuce and gobbled it down.

"Hey, I got an idea," Brian piped up. "Tomorrow, Brother Craig's takin' the church youth group on a weekend trip to Cheaha State Park. They're gettin' a couple o' cabins an' everything. Me an' Jay are goin' as chaperones. Why don't yew come too? We could really use a girl chaperone."

Her eyes widened. "You want me to go? As a chaperone? With the youth group?"

"Yeah!" Brian's brown eyes twinkled with excitement. "Oh, man, we'd love to have yew back. Ev'rybody at church misses yew. I know Brother Craig would love for yew to come. It'd be like old times."

"Yeah, but-"

"All those mission trips and youth camps and student conferences we went to together back in high school…" Brian trailed off. "Remember that time Brother Craig took us to Six Flags?" He chuckled. "Yew, me, Jay, and Weston Johnson rode the Ninja, an' Jay wet his pants on the second corkscrew!"

Jay rolled his green eyes. "Brian, for the last time, I did _not _wet my pants. That seat was wet when I sat in it."

Jennifer giggled. "I forgot about that. You know, I think I still have the photo from that ride. Remember? We actually bought a copy in the gift shop because of the look on Jay's face."

Brian burst out laughing. "That's right! He looked like he was scared silly! The picture musta been taken right after that second corkscrew!"

She joined in the laughter, remembering the ridiculous, bug-eyed expression on Jay O'Hanegan's face. "Those were good times."

"Yep. They sure were. You should come with us, Jennifer," Brian urged her. "It'll be fun." He shoveled a spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth. "Besides, Craig needs as many chaperones as he can get. With that girl gone missin' up there and all, we'll have to keep an extra close eye on the kids."

Before Jennifer could ask what he meant, Dean returned with an assortment of pie and resumed his seat. "They just put out a fresh cherry pie," he informed them, digging in.

"Nice," Jennifer said. She looked at Brian. "What did you say, Brian? A girl went missing?"

Brian nodded. "Just last weekend, some eighteen-year-old high school senior was out hiking with some friends. She got separated from them somehow, and no one's seen her since."

"What are we talking about?" Dean asked, munching on pie.

"A girl went missing at Cheaha. It's a state park about two and a half hours from here," Jennifer replied. "Brian, do you know where they were hiking?"

"Nope. I reckon it coulda been any one of them trails they got up there."

"I bet it was the Copper Falls Trail," Jennifer said. She bit her lip. "Do either of you remember back in the late eighties when that Coolidge woman went missing on Cheaha Mountain? I think it was '88 or '89. We were just little kids."

"Yeah," Jay said. "I remember. Felicia Coolidge. Her sister went to high school with my mom."

"Well, that lady was hiking the Copper Falls Trail when she vanished," she said. "And the exact same thing happened before that in the seventies. Or maybe it was the sixties; I don't know. Anyway, years before Felicia Coolidge, a man disappeared on the Copper Falls Trail."

Jay and Brian shared fearful glances.

"That's really weird," Brian said, trying to hide the shiver he suddenly felt. "Kinda sounds like an episode of _The X-Files _or somethin'."

Dean looked at Jennifer.

Jennifer looked at Dean.

Ever so reluctantly, she turned to Brian and asked, "Do you think Brother Craig has room for three more?"

_Room Twelve,_

_Econo Lodge._

"Well." Dean eased onto the squeaky, unsteady mattress and leaned against the plastic headboard. "That was an awesome date."

Jennifer sighed as she slumped into the chair across from Sam at the cheap-looking table by the window. "Yeah. We're having really great luck so far."

"So, they actually came over and sat by you and talked to you the entire time?" Sam asked, barely looking away from the screen of his laptop.

"Yes. And by 'the entire time', we mean the entire damn time," Dean huffed. "There wasn't one freaking moment when Brian wasn't giving us _The Chronicles of Redneckville._ We couldn't get outta there fast enough." He glared at Jennifer. "I can't believe you got us stuck on a camping trip with them."

"I'm sorry. It sounded like a case."

"But is going _with them _really necessary?"

"We'd run into them on the mountain anyway. You know we would."

"Well, it definitely looks like a case," Sam cut in. With his eyes on his laptop, he gave them an update. "Last weekend, eighteen-year-old Mackenzie Bryant and her friends were hiking the Copper Falls Trail when Mackenzie mysteriously vanished." He glanced at Jennifer. "And you were right. People have been disappearing from the Copper Falls Trail for decades, every twenty years, dating as far back as the 1920's. Dozens of people, no bodies ever recovered. Most of the disappearances have been attributed to black bear attacks, however, the authorities admit that black bears are not normally aggressive, and the chance of being attacked by one is extremely low."

Jennifer nodded. "I've never even heard of anyone seeing a black bear on Cheaha Mountain. I've gone up there a few times myself, and I've certainly never seen one."

Sam looked at his brother. "I think I know what we might be dealing with here. A wendigo."

"A wendigo?" Jennifer repeated. "Isn't that the thing in _Pet Sematary_?"

"Yep," Dean replied. "Nasty S.O.B.s, too. We killed one a few years ago out in Colorado. Wendigos live in dark, abandoned places, like caves, they're nearly impossible to find, and the only way to waste 'em is by lightin' them up."

She cringed.

"Then we'll need flare guns," Sam said. He closed his laptop. "And we'll need to make sure none of those kids go wandering off by themselves."

"Great," Dean exhaled loudly. "So we'll have to actually chaperone them."

"We should probably go to bed, then," Jennifer said. "We'll need plenty of rest." She rose from her chair with a sigh. "It's gonna be a long weekend."

_New Hope Community Church._

_The next morning._

Dean whipped the Impala into the church parking lot about an hour past dawn the next morning and nearly bagged a couple of sleepy-eyed teenagers who were too busy texting to pay attention to their surroundings as they crossed the asphalt.

He slammed on the brakes and instinctively honked the horn. "Good God," Dean exclaimed, watching as the adolescents continued in front of the '67 at a leisurely pace. "We have to keep _these _kids from getting killed?"

Sam grimaced. "'Fraid so."

"Wonderful." Dean slowed the vehicle's speed to a safe two miles per hour and proceeded across the parking lot, following Jennifer's instructions to park beside Jay O'Hanegan's lemon yellow Toyota Yaris. He glowered at the hatchback as he shut off the Impala's engine. "That's the most ridiculous-looking car I've ever seen." He stepped out of the Chevy and slammed the door behind him. Met Sam and Jennifer at the trunk. Opened it and removed their bags. "Who cares if it gets ninety miles a gallon? It's like a friggin' clown car." He closed the trunk with a bang. "And that fugly yellow…"

Jennifer shushed him as they approached the church van, around which the group of excited youth had gathered.

New Hope Community Church had one van- a fifteen-passenger 1983 GMC Rally Wagon, navy blue with light blue trim. _New Hope Community Church, Antioch, Alabama, "Sharing Jesus With The World" _was painted in white cursive on both sides. As Dean walked toward the rusty old van, he wondered if it could survive a trip to the mountains. Then he glanced at the group of teens surrounding the van and wondered if _he _could survive the trip. He seriously doubted it when Brian Rodney caught sight of them, waved energetically, and came their way.

"Mornin' y'all!" Brian greeted them with a toothy smile. "We're just loadin' up the van. Yew want me to get y'allses stuff for yew?"

"Thanks, but we've got it," Sam said politely.

"Okie doke. Well, just put yer bags right in the back there." Brian placed his hands on his hips. "Man, I'm so glad y'all decided to come. This is gonna be so much fun!" He glanced at the brothers. "Have y'all met Brother Craig yet?"

"Don't believe so," Dean answered.

"Hey, Craig!" Brian hollered, waving his arms in the air.

A tall, slender, thirty-something man in jeans and an Old Navy t-shirt looked up from the luggage he was loading into the van. He waved back and came toward the four of them. The closer the spiky-haired student minister got, the more familiar he became to the Winchesters. They soon realized they _had _met Craig. Last year, after the death of Associate Pastor Frank Linton, when they were investigating the sanctuary-turned-crime-scene, Craig Yackler had caught them snooping around. He was the one who had told them about the black dog Frank had seen prior to his death.

"Jennifer!" Brother Craig said warmly. He pulled her into a tight hug. "It's so good to see you!" They ended the embrace. "I bet you're glad to be home. Your mom is, I know. Sure is nice to have you back with the group. I was more than excited when Brian and Jay told me you were coming. And your friends here, too." He smiled at the brothers. "It's Dean and Sam, right? I remember you two. You've visited here before."

"Yes, sir," Dean said.

Craig gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder. "Well, we're glad to have you back. I'm looking forward to gettin' to know you two this weekend. But I gotta say, if you're friends of Jennifer's, you must be trouble." He winked playfully. "We'll chat later, guys. It's time to get goin'. Brian, you mind giving me a hand?"

"Not at all!"

Brother Craig led the two of them to the crowd of teenagers. Craig clapped his hands once to get their attention. "Okay, guys, listen up!" he shouted. "It's time to head out, so let's load up!"

Dean watched in horror as the kids piled onto the ancient Rally Wagon. Sixteen-year-old douche nozzles with Polo boxers hanging halfway out of their jeans. A couple of emo freshmen listening to Dashboard Confessional on their iPods. Giggly, blushing thirteen-year-old girls who had clearly taken a shine to him and Sam. One hormonally-imbalanced youth after another.

"I'm not getting on that van," Dean stated.

Jennifer turned to him. "What?"

"I'm sorry, but that hoopty-wagon is smellin' way too much like teen spirit for me."

"Dean, come on," Sam said. "They're just kids."

"That's a fifteen-passenger. There's at least ten kids plus, what, six chaperones? We'll be packed in there like freakin' sardines."

"Welcome to the world of youth group transportation," Jennifer said.

"I'm not gonna get stuck shoulder to shoulder between Miley Cyrus and the Jonas Brothers." He dug his keys out of his jacket pocket. "Nope. I'll follow in the Impala."

Jennifer and Sam sighed in unison, "Dean-"

"Is there a problem over here?" Jay O'Hanegan asked as he approached them, his thick, muscular arms folded across his brawny chest. "You heard Craig. It's time to load up."

"Yeah, I heard," Dean said. "I'm gonna follow in my ride."

Jay frowned. "You can't do that. There's only one parking space at our campsite."

"Then I guess I'll park on the grass."

"There _is _no grass. It's in the middle of the forest," Jay said. His arms fell to his sides, revealing a giant shamrock and the words '_100% Irish' _printed on his green tee.

Dean made a face. "Seriously, dude, how many Irish t-shirts do you have?"

Jay took a step toward him. He had a bit of a tone when he said, "I said it's time to get on the van."

"Easy there, tiger," Dean smirked. He glanced at Jennifer, who was glaring at him. Sam's expression wasn't much different. Dean rolled his eyes and gave in. "Fine." He returned his keys to his jacket. "But I call the window seat."


	58. 1x12, III: Copper Falls

_Cheaha State Park._

After the longest three-hour drive of just about everybody on board the church van's lives, the New Hope Community Church youth group arrived at their reserved cabins- eight and ten, located side by side. The girls were assigned cabin eight under the leadership of Jennifer and Brother Craig's wife, Christy- who, much to Dean's _major _dismay, had met them inside the park in her own separate car. All the guys were appointed cabin ten.

The cabins were as secluded as Jay had indicated. A tiny one-lane pathway led to each of the rustic log buildings, which were surrounded on all sides by a colony of centuries-old pines. The place was beautiful. Serene. And on the back side of each cabin was a breathtaking view of the Appalachian mountains.

After unloading personal items and settling into the cabins, Brother Craig instructed the members of the youth group to meet at the fire pit in front of the cabins to discuss the day's itinerary. Their first activity- a picnic lunch on the banks of Lake Chickapow. They would need their nourishment for their second activity- an afternoon hike up the Copper Falls Trail.

"No one, I mean _no one _goes off alone today," Craig told the teenagers. "Is that understood? I'm sure you've all heard about the missing girl. I don't want anybody ending up like her. I don't want anyone going missing. _Or _falling off any cliffs. Or anything, okay?"

A few of the kids snickered.

"That's what our chaperones are here for- to watch out for you guys. Now, we've got several chaperones on board with us this weekend. Mrs. Christy and myself, of course," Craig said. He gestured toward the others. "Jay O'Hanegan, Brian Rodney, Jennifer Bane, and…uh…Dean and Sam…" His face reddened as he realized he didn't know the full names of Jennifer's friends. He smiled it off. "Dean and Sam."

Dean politely dipped his head at the group.

Sam gave them an awkward wave.

Several girls giggled.

"So, if anyone has any problems or questions, just see one of our wonderful chaperones here," Craig said. "Alright. I guess that wraps things up. How about that picnic?"

An hour later, the group finished a packed lunch of ham and turkey sandwiches and headed to the Copper Falls Trail. With backpacks full of ammo in tow, Dean, Sam, and Jennifer fell slightly behind the others.

"This was a terrible idea," Dean muttered as they set foot on the forty-five minute trail. "We can't do our jobs with all these kids around."

Jennifer gripped the straps of her backpack with both hands as she walked. "Actually, it's a good thing we're here. Like Brian said last night, we can help keep an eye on everybody. Make sure everyone stays on the trail."

"Yeah, but that means _we _have to stay on the trail," Dean reminded her. "And we're not gonna find the wendigo or that missing girl if we stay on the trail."

"Dean does have a point there, Jennifer," Sam said. "We'll have to sneak off if we're gonna get anything accomplished. Besides, I'd say they've got it pretty well covered right now."

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Craig, Craig's wife, Douche bag 1, Douche bag 2… How much adult supervision do ten kids need?"

"You actually trust Jay and Brian to take care of all those kids?" Jennifer asked.

"Good point," Dean said. "We shouldn't go anywhere."

Jennifer stepped around a large stone. "I don't even know where to start looking. All we know is that this Mackenzie girl _started out _on this trail. Who knows how far she strayed from here? This park is huge."

"What about that psychic thing of yours?" Dean asked, quieting his tone. "Can you use it to find the missing girl?"

She sighed. "I don't know. All I've got is a name. I don't even know what she looks like."

"Why don't you just try it? It's worth a shot."

"Okay." Jennifer stopped next to a moss-covered tree stump. The brothers did as well. "It's Mackenzie Bryant, right?"

Sam nodded.

Jennifer closed her eyes and concentrated on the name. Mackenzie Bryant. Mackenzie Bryant. She repeated the two words over and over in her mind, hoping to receive a mental image of the girl's location. Mackenzie Bryant. She strained herself. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter. Mackenzie Bryant.

Suddenly, as if she had been kicked in the abdomen, her stomach clenched. Her eyes opened wide with fear.

Dean stared at her. "Anything?"

"No," she breathed. "But I feel sick all of a sudden." Her hand went to her midsection as nausea took over. Not just any kind of nausea. She recognized it. The same growing pit of dread she'd felt before the death of her cousin, Dustin. "Something bad is gonna happen."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked.

She gulped. "I don't know. It's just…I've got a bad feeling. I don't know who or what it's about, but…something's wrong."

"You don't think it's about Mackenzie?"

She thought about it. "No. I'm sure it's not. I don't know how I know that, but I do. This is something else."

"Well," Dean sighed. "That's never good."

* * *

Much farther ahead on the trail than Jennifer and the Winchesters, yet lagging behind Brother Craig, Mrs. Christy, and half the youth group, Jay O'Hanegan and Brian Rodney led five students up the steepest part of the Copper Falls Trail. One of these five students was Tanner O'Hanegan, Jay's fifteen-year-old little brother, who was busily texting his girlfriend rather than admiring the beauty of nature.

When Jay noticed this, he rolled his eyes. "Tanner, I'm not gonna tell you again. Quit texting and put up the phone."

Tanner rolled his eyes back at him. "I'll put it up when I'm done."

Jay whipped toward him. "Give me the dang phone." He grabbed the device from his brother's hands and stuffed it into a pocket of his cargo pants.

"Jay, give me back my phone!"

"Sure. At the end of the hike. Pay attention to where you're going."

Tanner rolled his eyes again and slowed his pace, not desiring to walk with his brother. "Whatever."

After carefully crossing over a fallen log, Jay told Brian, "The kid gets so into his phone, he has no idea what's going on around him. It was making me nervous."

Brian looked at his big-nosed friend. "I know. I'm glad yew took it away from him. It was makin' me nervous too. Especially after what Jennifer told us about all them folks that's gone missin' up here…"

Jay kept his eyes on the trail.

"That stuff gimme the spooks. All them people…taken from this spot…"

"Taken?"

Brian was silent.

"_Taken_." Jay considered Brian's word choice and blew out some air. "Brian, _please _tell me you're not talking about aliens."

"Jay-"

"I thought you were out of that phase."

"I was. But all these people goin' missin' from this same place every twenty or so years…it's weird. _X-Files _weird."

"Brian, _The X-Files _is just a stupid TV show."

"Maybe so. But there's been a ton of reported abductions and U.F.O. sightings in real-life. Maybe…this is the real deal. Right here in Alabama."

"You watched _Signs _again, didn't you? Man, I told you not to. It messes with your head every time."

"Tanner!" Brother Craig's voice echoed through the woods. "Come here!"

Jay, Brian, and their group turned around, looking for the student minister.

"Tanner!" Craig shouted again.

Tanner squinted as his eyes scanned the forest. "Where are you?"

"By the creek!"

The creek? Tanner hadn't even noticed a creek. Maybe Jay was right about his cell phone. He'd missed half the hike.

"Tanner, don't stand there like an idiot," Jay told his little brother. "Don't you hear Brother Craig calling you?"

Tanner huffed and changed directions, in search of the creek and Brother Craig.

Jay rolled his eyes as the rest of the group continued up the trail. "That kid. I swear. Cell phones _do _cause brain damage."

* * *

About fifteen minutes later, the entire group of students and chaperones reunited at the end of the trail, with Dean, Sam, and Jennifer bringing up the rear. They reached Copper Falls, a small but beautiful cascade waterfall that flowed over copper-colored rocks into a narrow stream.

Just as the students began rolling up their pant legs and venturing into the chilly waters, a freshman named Camden Nichols noticed Tanner O'Hanegan was missing. The moment he voiced his observation, everyone searched the area and found no sign of Jay's little brother.

Jennifer shared worried looks with the Winchesters.

Brother Craig walked to Jay and Brian. "Guys, do you know where Tanner went?" he asked them. "He was in your group, wasn't he?"

"Yeah," Jay said. "Until you called him."

Craig's forehead wrinkled with confusion. "What?"

"The last time we seen him was when yew hollered at him to meet yew by the creek," Brian replied.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Craig said. "I never did any such thing."

"But we heard you," one of the students in Jay and Brian's group spoke up.

Craig didn't know what to say. "But…I didn't."

"We were with Brother Craig the whole time, and he never called Tanner," Amy Moreland, a student in Craig's group said.

Sam inconspicuously pulled Dean and Jennifer aside. "Wendigos can mimic human voices. It probably made itself sound like Craig to lure Tanner out."

Jennifer swallowed hard. "He probably seemed like an easy target, seeing as he was more focused on his phone than anything else."

"We need to get the rest of these kids to safety," Dean said.

She nodded. "I think I can help with that. I'll be back." She drew in a deep breath and approached the student minister. "Craig, I need to talk to you for a second, please."

With an expression that was growing increasingly confused and concerned, Craig followed her away from the others. "What is it, Jennifer?"

She sighed. "You've gotta take everyone back to the cabins."

"What? We can't just leave without Tanner."

"I know. Dean, Sam, and I will stay here and look for him, but you _have _to take everyone else back to safety."

Craig studied her features carefully. "Do you know what's going on here?"

"No. Not entirely." She lowered her voice. "But something is in these woods, something very dangerous, and it isn't safe for these kids to be out here. We can't risk losing anyone else "

He didn't know what to say.

"Please, trust me on this. The three of us will find Tanner." She paused. "I promise."

Brother Craig hesitated. "Okay. But be careful."

"You too. Just make sure everyone stays together."

The two rejoined the group of frightened faces. "Alright, guys, nobody panic," Craig told them. "I want everyone to head back the way we came, back to the cabins." He was met with a round of 'What about Tanner?'s. "Don't worry. Jennifer, Sam, and Dean are putting together a search party. But for right now, all of you are coming with me back to camp."

Jay glanced at Jennifer and the Winchesters, then at Craig, then back at Jennifer. He came toward her, his fear for Tanner clearly displayed across his features. "I'm not leaving here without my brother."

Before either Winchester could protest, she replied, "That's fine. You can come with us. But everyone else needs to head back to camp."

"Brian comes too," Jay said. "We need all the help we can get."

"Okay."

"Come on, guys," Craig instructed the teens, leading them away from the five chaperones. "Everybody stay together."

As they watched the youth group following their leader down the trail, Sam asked Jay and Brian, "About how far back were you when you heard Brother Craig's voice call Tanner off the trail?"

"I don't know," Jay said. "It was maybe…fifteen minutes ago."

"Alright. We should head back there. That sounds like a good place to start."

Jay and Brian led the way.

Dean came to Jennifer's side and whispered, "Guess this is what that feeling of yours was about."

* * *

Three hours later, night arrived and forced the unsuccessful search for Tanner to come to a temporary end. Jay had wanted to keep going, but the Winchesters had insisted they call it a night, for they knew how a wendigo's senses sharpened when the sun went down. They would resume the search first thing in the morning.

Back at camp, Dean followed Jay and Brian into the guys' cabin. Inside, the teenagers were seated next to one another, no longer preoccupied with their cell phones and iPods, but alert, quiet, and terrified.

Dean went to his bunk and tried not to draw attention to himself as he unzipped his bag and found Dad's journal. He took the book and headed to the door with plans to meet Sam and Jennifer out front during the prayer meeting Brother Craig was about to hold for Tanner's safety. He managed to slip into the darkness without anyone noticing. Jennifer and Sam were waiting by the fire pit as promised.

"I got it," Dean told them. He held up his father's faded leather journal. "Let's see." He flipped it open and began thumbing through the pages, mumbling to himself as he did so. "Wendigo…wendigo." He stopped. "Here we go. This is what I was looking for." He passed the book to his brother. "Hope you're up for a little art project."

Sam gave the page a once-over. "Anasazi protection symbols."

"Yep," Dean said. "Guaranteed to keep the wendigos away. They can't cross over them."

"So, if we draw these in the dirt around the cabins, everyone that stays inside should be safe?" Jennifer asked.

"Mm-hmm. That's the plan."

"Why can't we sneak out right now and look for Tanner without the others?"

"It'd be suicide," Sam told her. "These creatures hunt best at night. The only thing we can do now is protect ourselves with these symbols and wait for morning." He looked once more at the paper covered with Anasazi markings. "We need to get started."

They gathered three sticks to use for drawing and began with the girls' cabin. With the open journal as their guide, they knelt down next to an exterior wall and scratched the figures into the dirt.

Some time later, Dean glanced at Jennifer. She'd said nothing since they had started their project, and now, as he noticed her furrowed brow and drawn lips, Dean could tell she was upset about something. "Hey." She looked at him. "You okay?"

"Yeah." She sighed. "Just thinking."

"About?"

"This bad feeling I've got."

"You've still got it?"

She nodded. "And the more I think about it, the more I think it's not about Tanner."

Dean was almost scared to ask, but he did anyway. "What do you think it's about?"

"I don't know. And I hate it. I hate knowing something bad is about to happen, but not having a freaking clue what it is. Why do I even _have _these kinda feelings? I can't do anything about anything. They're useless."

"Maybe you should try to focus it," Sam suggested, apparently listening in on their conversation from several feet away. "Concentrate on it some more."

"Maybe."

"You didn't feel anything until you concentrated on Mackenzie Bryant's name. Remember? That concentration must have triggered your premonition," Sam said.

"I think you're right. Because the more I dwell on it, the more I try to figure out what this feeling is about, the stronger it gets. The more I can narrow it down," she told them. "But for now, all I know is that it's getting more intense." She looked at the brothers, wide-eyed. "Whatever bad thing is gonna happen, it's getting closer."


	59. 1x12, IV: Fire

_The next morning._

As soon as daylight brightened the mountains, Dean, Sam, Jennifer, Jay, and Brian set out into the forest and returned to the Copper Falls Trail, determined to find Tanner. The previous afternoon, they had gone west with no results. So today, they tried east.

The group had only been hiking for a little over an hour when everyone began to grow fussy. First it was Brian, whining about the mosquitoes that seemed to be following them. Then Jay, who was unhappy with the way Dean was bossing everyone around. After that, of course, it was Dean, grumbling about Jay and Brian grumbling.

Everyone just wanted the search to be over. They all wanted Tanner back with them, safe. And the three hunters wanted the wendigo dead.

"Y'all," Brian started again as they roamed through the trees, "I hate to keep complainin', but I'm starvin'."

"Maybe you should have eaten breakfast," an aggravated Sam said.

"I did eat breakfast. But all this hikin' musta burned it off." He observed the backpacks that Dean, Jennifer, and Sam carried. "Do any of y'all have a granola bor or somethin' in y'allses backpacks?"

Through clenched his teeth, Dean replied, "No."

"Then what _do_ you have in those backpacks?" Jay asked. "You've been lugging them around the whole trip, and not once have you opened them."

The comment prompted Jennifer to grip her bag of hunting accessories tighter. "Just the essentials," she said.

Jay frowned. "And food isn't an essential?"

Everyone ignored the question and continued in blissful silence for twelve whole seconds.

"Man, these mosquitoes sure are out in full force, ain't they?" Brian swatted at one of the pesky blood-sucking insects. "I'm skeered of gettin' malaria or yella fever or-"

Sam sighed through his nose. "Will you shut up? Please?"

Brian recoiled like a kicked puppy.

With Dean as their guide, they traveled deeper into the woods, searching for any sign of Tanner. They passed nature-made trenches, gigantic rocks, and hollowed-out logs big enough to fit a person inside, but found nothing.

Then, subtly, Sam got Jennifer's attention. He slowed his pace and pointed up, toward the top of a thick pine. Her eyes followed his fingertip.

A red streak smeared across the tree trunk. Three long, thin grooves carved into the bark.

"Claw marks," he whispered to her.

She gulped.

Sam looked ahead at his brother, who met his gaze. Apparently, Dean had spotted the marks as well. Sam turned to Jennifer. "Looks like we're getting close."

A disturbingly inhuman growl thundered through the woods.

Frightened, everyone glanced at each other.

"What the crap was that?" Jay asked.

"Everybody stay close," Dean told the group.

"Dean," Jennifer murmured, coming to his side. "Look over there."

He did.

To their far left, there stood a large rock formation, much like the ones they had already encountered. But a closer look proved that this one had an opening. This one was a cave.

* * *

Jennifer snapped a stick from one of the trees, knelt to the ground, and quickly began sketching Anasazi symbols into the dirt from memory, just as they had done outside the cabins.

"What in the world are you doing?" Jay demanded.

She held her breath, wishing she didn't have to answer. Taking on a case in her hometown had been a risky move for what remained of her reputation. She knew that. But she had hoped they could finish the job without letting anyone from her past in on her new occupation. But apparently, no such luck.

Jay stared at her in disbelief. "You're…drawing?"

She sighed. Out of all the people she used to call friends, the _last _person she wanted to explain herself to was Jay O'Hanegan. "Just trust me, okay?"

"Uh…how?"

"You heard that growl," Sam told him. "There's something out here." He dropped to his knees to help Jennifer. "Something terrible, and it's close. This is the only way for you to be safe."

Jay glanced at Jennifer. "What the crap are you talking about?"

"Just get inside the circle and stay there," Sam said. "It'll protect you."

Brian gulped. "From what?"

"Just do what he said," Dean snarled.

"Look, man." Jay stepped toward him and raised his voice. "My little brother's out here somewhere. I need to know what's going on."

"No, you don't," Jennifer said, finishing the last symbol to complete the small circle. "You don't wanna know."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She rose to her feet, unzipped her backpack, and reached inside. "It means," she said, hoisting an intimidatingly large flare gun, "you need to stay here and do what we tell you to do."

* * *

"That was a pretty bad ass move back there, Lara Croft," Dean told Jennifer with a grin as the three hunters approached the mouth of the cave.

Despite the fact that they were heading into what appeared to be the lair of an evil, cannibalistic, killing machine, Jennifer managed to smile back. "Thanks."

With Dean leading the way, the trio crossed the threshold and entered the dark abyss. The temperature dropped to a cool fifty degrees. The stale air smelled of rotten meat.

Sam clicked on a flashlight.

They followed the cavern underground until it split into two different corridors. Dean suggested they go left just as Sam noticed a calcified object that was not part of the cave's structure.

"Is that a skeleton?" Jennifer asked, squinting in the darkness.

Sam shined his flashlight on the object in question as they moved toward it. It was, indeed, a human skeleton. Or at least part of one. A skull, a few ribs, a tibia, and two femurs, all scattered across the ground. The farther they went, the more bones they discovered. The skeletal remains of a left arm, completely in tact. Tons of ribs. At least a dozen skulls.

Jennifer's stomach churned at the sight.

A groan echoed through the cave. Not an animal sound like the growl they had heard in the woods. This was human.

"Tanner," Jennifer breathed, darting toward the sound.

Sam grabbed her by the elbow. "It could be a trap."

With flare guns ready, they proceeded cautiously in the direction of the noise. Down a corridor. Around a corner. Into a chamber where two bodies dangled from the ceiling.

"Tanner!" Jennifer exclaimed once more when the light of Sam's flashlight revealed Jay's younger sibling. He was alive and awake, staring back at her. She ran to his side. "Hey, it's gonna be okay." She set the flare gun aside for a second and yanked a switchblade from her bag. "We're gonna get you out of here."

The Winchesters went to the other body- a teenage girl who was unconscious but breathing. Mackenzie Bryant.

Jennifer sliced into the rope that bound Tanner and cut him free. He fell into her arms. "Are you alright? You hurt?"

He shook his head and whispered, "It'll come back."

She swallowed and slipped his arm around her neck. "Come on, we've gotta hurry."

Sam lifted Mackenzie's limp body and headed toward the exit.

"Get them outside with Jay and Brian," Dean instructed Sam and Jennifer. "I'll try to find the bastard."

* * *

Jay's heart skipped a beat when he saw Sam and Jennifer emerge from the cave, then again when he noticed who was with them. He sighed with relief at the sight of his brother. "Tanner!"

"Stay where you are," Jennifer told him. She led Tanner to the circle, where Jay pulled him into a hug.

"Man, don't you ever do that again." Jay squeezed him. "Are you alright? You hurt?"

Tanner smiled. "I'm fine."

Brian took Mackenzie Bryant from Sam. "Is she gonna be okay?"

"I think so," Sam said.

The deep growl sounded through the forest for a second time.

Tanner held onto his brother. "It's back. I told you it'd be back."

"All of you, stay inside the circle," Sam said. He drew his flare gun and studied their surroundings, hoping to catch a glimpse of the creature.

Dean ran from the cave and joined them. "It's not inside the cave."

"I know," Sam said. "It's out here somewhere."

Leaves rustled.

"Over there!" Tanner cried, pointing to the right.

The hunters aimed their flare guns toward the sound.

They saw it. A gray, spindly, Gollum-like thing lurking in the bushes. It moved fast to find a better hiding spot, but Dean's trigger finger moved faster. He fired and struck the beast in the torso, immediately setting the beast aflame. It dropped to the ground as the flames took over.

Jay and Brian stared in amazement as the creature melted away.

_New Hope Community Church._

After getting Tanner back to camp and Mackenzie to an ambulance, the youth group and chaperones loaded up the church van and went home. The Winchesters, Jennifer, Jay, and Brian now stood in the parking lot of the church, loading their bags into their vehicles.

"So, this is it. This is what you've been doing all year," Jay said to Jennifer for the third time. "Riding across the country, hunting things like…wendigos."

Jennifer shrugged her shoulders. "Yeah. Pretty much."

Brian shook his head, smiling. "Man. That there is dang awesome. I still cain't believe it, but it's just plain awesome. Does yer momma know about this?"

Her stomach wrenched so intensely at the question, she almost lost her balance. She grabbed the trunk of the Impala for support. "Yeah. She, uh, she knows."

"And she's okay with it?" Jay asked.

"No, not exactly," Dean replied for her.

"Well, I, uh, I think it's awesome, like Brian already said twenty times," Jay told her. He nervously stroked his curly brown hair. "I don't even know what to say. I mean…you saved my brother."

Jennifer stared at the pavement.

Jay moved toward her and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into an embrace. A very tight embrace.

Dean frowned as he watched the questionably long hug between Jennifer and her ex-boyfriend. He blinked. They were still hugging. He cleared his throat loudly.

"We should get going," Sam helped him out.

"Yup. We should too," Brian said.

Jay and Jennifer pulled away from each other and said their goodbyes.

"Y'all be careful out doin' what y'all do," Brian told them, assuming the position of shotgun inside Jay's Yaris. He gave them a wave. "See ya!" He closed the door.

Jay cranked the vehicle and away they went.

"Well," Dean sighed. "Glad that's over."

"Yeah, really," Sam agreed with a huff. He glanced at Jennifer, who was pale-faced and clinging to the Impala in a trance-like state. "Something wrong?"

"My feeling." She swallowed hard and lifted her eyes to his. "The bad feeling. It was about my mom." Suddenly, she snapped out of the daze. "_My mom_." Jennifer dug into her purse and yanked out her cell. She flipped it open. There were ten missed calls and as many unheard voicemails. All from Alma. Without bothering to listen to any of the messages, she dialed her mother's number. "Something's gonna happen to my mom. We've gotta check on her," she told the brothers frantically as it rang.

_Ring. Ring. Ring. "Hello, this is Alma Bane. Leave a message, and I will return your call." Beep._

Jennifer gulped. "Hey, Momma. It's me. Just making sure you're okay. Call me when you get this." She hung up and looked at Dean, fear evident in her eyes. "Something's wrong. We have to go. Now."

The three loaded into the Impala and hit the road, destined for the Bane residence.

* * *

When Jennifer spotted the smoke rising ahead, she immediately knew what had happened. Though Sam and Dean tried not to assume the worst, they knew it too. The thick black cloud was located where they were headed.

Dean floored the accelerator, determined to reach the house as fast as possible.

Not five minutes later, the Impala rocketed down Valleyview Drive, zooming past the houses of Jennifer's former neighbors. They could hear the sirens. They could smell the smoke. Up ahead, a section of the street was partially blocked by orange road cones.

The section contained her childhood home.

Half a dozen fire trucks lined the drive. Several uniformed firemen wandered about, equipment in hand.

They saw the fire. The remnants of David and Alma's red brick rancher consumed by a roaring conflagration.

Jennifer breathed some unintelligible, horrified slur as the Impala jolted to a stop behind the barricade. She yanked open the door and climbed out of the vehicle. With the brothers close behind, she ran to the scene and stopped at the edge of the road, momentarily paralyzed by the vision before her. The enormous cloud of black smoke billowing toward the naively happy blue sky. Waves of orange erupting from every part of her family home, bursting through holes where windows had been, grabbing at what remained of the roof, ravaging the entire house.

Jennifer fought for her breath as she stared at the flames. "My parents." Her eyes scanned the area for David and Alma. "Where are my parents?"

One of the firemen approached them, removing his helmet. Jennifer recognized him- Buddy Holloway, a well-known citizen of Antioch and member of her church. His sooty face bore a grim expression. "Jennifer," he greeted her softly.

Dean and Sam exchanged worried glances.

"What happened? Where are my parents?" she demanded an answer from Buddy.

The fireman shook his head. His brown eyes glistened with tears. "The fire…it was so intense we couldn't...we couldn't get to them in time." He dropped his head. "I'm so sorry."

A shudder passed through Jennifer's body as his words sank in. "No," she breathed. Her eyes welled up with tears. "No, God, no." Her chest began to heave as she stared into the crackling flames. "No!" She lurched toward the house and took off across the lawn.

Dean ran after her. He caught up to her, slipped his arms around her waist, and jerked her backwards, pulling her away from the fire.

"No!" she screamed, fighting his grip.

He held onto her firmly. As she struggled to escape, a familiar pain rose inside him. The same pain he had felt pulling Sam out of his fiery apartment at Stanford. The same miserable feeling of helplessness. And anger.

Jennifer finally collapsed against him, tears spilling down her cheeks. He pulled his arms around her as she sobbed into his chest.

As Sam stood at the curb, watching the tragic scene from behind, he noticed a dark figure in one of the windows.

A second look proved the figure to be a man.

Sam gulped. He could barely make out the man's face, but he recognized him. It was the bald man who had confronted him in Friendship, Virginia, while possessed by the yellow-eyed demon.

The bald man peered out at Sam. His eyes flashed yellow. A devilish smile formed on his lips. Then he disappeared into the flames.


	60. 1x12, V: Plans for Vengeance

_Room Twelve,_

_Econo Lodge._

The moment Sam heard movement on the other side of the exterior door, he set the polishing cloth aside and clasped the grip of the revolver he was in the process of cleaning. He sat up straight. Stiffened his neck. Turned to look at the door as it squealed open.

Dean stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Locked it.

The room was silent as Sam waited for his brother to speak.

Dean tossed his car keys onto the window-side table and plopped into one of the chairs next to it. "The fire department can't determine how the fire began." He sighed. "They say it was the strangest, most intense fire they've ever dealt with. So intense, they couldn't even send anyone in to help David and Alma."

Sam stared at the floor.

"And, not shockingly, there were traces of sulfur."

Without removing his eyes from the paisley carpet, Sam muttered, "This was because of me."

Dean exhaled. "Sam-"

"I saw the yellow-eyed demon in the fire. He infected all those people in Virginia with the Croatoan virus to get my attention. That has to be what this was about." He focused on the revolver in his hands. "I didn't kill the psychic girl he told me to kill." He swallowed. "Now both of Jennifer's parents are dead."

Dean said nothing.

"He's moving closer. Killing off the people connected to me in attempt to break me." A pause. "If he started with Jennifer's parents, we know who's next." He hesitantly looked at Dean. "I don't think it's safe for Jennifer to stay with us."

"What?"

"You know I'm right."

"Uh…no. I don't."

"Look-"

"She's not goin' anywhere."

"Dean-"

Dean lowered his voice in case she was listening through the walls. "Sam, she's in no shape to watch out for herself right now. She's devastated. And she's got no one but me and you. She'd be better off on the road with us, where we can keep an eye on her, make sure she's okay. There's no way we're leaving her alone now."

Sam nodded slowly and set the gun down on the bed beside him. "Then what's our next move?" He rubbed his forehead, frustrated. "We can't go kill this psychic, Lily, 'cause we'd help the demon. But apparently, we can't do _nothing _either."

"I'll tell you what we can do." Dean leaned forward in his seat. "We can find a way to waste the son of a bitch."

"But the only thing that can kill the demon is the Colt. And we don't even know where the Colt is."

"Then we'll look for it. Or we'll find another way. We're done sittin' around on our asses, Sammy," Dean said, his jaw clenched. "We shouldn't have let it come to this."

Sam swallowed hard.

"We'll go to Bobby. The Roadhouse. See if we can't start putting some pieces together." Dean peered into his brother's eyes. "But you're not gonna kill that psychic. And that demon isn't killing any of us."

Sam nodded. "I'll go ahead and make a few calls. See if anybody knows anything new."

"Okay. I'll be back in a while. I'm gonna go check on Jennifer."

* * *

Jennifer was sitting on her bed in the darkness, staring at the drab, papered wall in front of her when Dean let himself inside her room. He crossed the threshold and closed the door as quietly as he could, afraid of disturbing the deathlike silence he discovered inside. As he moved across the carpet toward her, she kept her eyes on the wall.

"Hey." Dean's quiet greeting echoed as if he had shouted in the soundless room. She still didn't move. He cleared his throat and proceeded across the floor. "How you holdin' up?"

She continued to sit, motionless.

"I, uh, I stopped by the Arby's drive-thru." He held up a paper bag with the well-known cowboy hat logo on the front. "I know how much you like their curly fries. And that Italian sub they've got. And of course…" He lifted his left hand, which contained a medium-sized cup. "Diet Dr. Pepper."

She didn't budge.

Dean swallowed. "You should eat." He set the food on her nightstand. After a moment of hesitation, he backed up. Stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Well, uh, I just wanted to see how you were doing." Four steps toward the door. "Guess I'll head back to my room now." He reached for the doorknob.

"Dean?"

Her small, hoarse voice startled him. He glanced over his shoulder and found her still staring at the wall. He wasn't sure she'd actually spoken.

Her lips quivered. "Please don't leave."

He gulped.

"Please?" Her eyes finally met his. "Stay with me?"

Reluctantly, he walked to the bed. She scooted over, making room for him beside her. The mattress squeaked loudly as he sank onto it. He leaned against the headboard. They sat there, shoulder to shoulder, in silence until she was ready to talk.

"Thank you," Jennifer said, struggling to steady her trembling voice. "For the food." She mustered up a smile. "That was really sweet."

He smiled back. "Don't mention it."

Her body shuddered as she lowered her gaze to the bedspread beneath them. She could feel the tears returning again, for what felt like the hundredth time, and she fought as hard as she could to stop them. But her attempts were futile. Tears blurred her vision and forced their way down her cheeks. She wiped them away, fast. "I can't stop thinking about how I talked to her. The last time we talked. My mom."

"Jennifer, you can't-"

"No, I was so horrible. I yelled at her. I hung up on her." She shook her head as more tears fell. "How could I do that?" She swallowed. "And all those phone calls… she called me over and over again. I ignored her. I never answered. What if she called for help? What if I could have stopped this, Dean?"

"You can't think like that. You hear me? There's no way you coulda known-"

"I had a premonition, and I still ignored her phone calls! How could I be so…" She covered her face with her hands. "How?"

His heart ached for her as he listened to her choppy sentences filled with confusion. Her guilt-ridden, self-accusing despair.

"And my dad," she said. "I don't even remember the last time we spoke. But I'm sure we argued. We always argued. Always. There was always something."

"Jennifer," he said. He slid a hand under her chin and lifted her face toward his. "Listen to me." He stared into her watery eyes. "This wasn't _your _fault. There's nothing you could have done."

She just cried, furiously rubbing away the tears as they came.

He hated seeing her like this. He hated it. And he knew she hated it too.

He didn't know what to do. At all. Dean Winchester wasn't exactly known for comforting the bereaved. That was Sam's forte. But this was different. This was Jennifer. And he could no longer ignore the urge to take her into his arms. He leaned forward and pulled her close.

She was grateful for the gesture. She relaxed under his touch and began to take control of her sobbing. She snuggled into his arms. Rested her head on his chest.

He kissed her forehead. "No, this wasn't your fault. We know who did this." He gulped. "And I'm gonna kill him." He squeezed her tight. "I swear to you, Jennifer, I will kill that yellow-eyed son of a bitch if it's the last thing I do."


	61. 1x13, I: Lily

**Disclaimer**: If you have seen the season two finale of _Supernatural_, "All Hell Breaks Loose, Part Two", you will recognize a good deal of this story. Though I have made several big changes, the central storyline you are about to read was conceived by Eric Kripke and company, not me. I have only borrowed it to keep my little series in line with _Supernatural _canon. Please don't sue me!

**A/N: **This "episode", "Highway to Hell", will conclude part one/season one of _The Good Fight._ When the last chapter is finished, if you're still liking where this story seems to be going, _please _review and let me know, and I will continue with the second half of the series. Thank you all so much for reading this far. And I really do appreciate your reviews! Please keep telling me what you think!

* * *

**"Highway to Hell"**

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* * *

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_Easley Heights Apartments_

_Payton, Minnesota._

_Friday night._

Lily Wilhite slumped on the sofa in her dimly-lit apartment, puffing on a Newport cigarette as she stared at the bottle of sleeping pills on the coffee table.

Sleeping pills. As if she wanted to go to sleep. Every time she drifted off, he came to her. The man with the yellow eyes. He came to her in dreams, more and more frequently, and told her to do things. Find people. Kill people. All because of some wonderful plans he had for her.

She ignored him. She always did. But now, it was getting harder to ignore him. She hadn't slept in three days. She was miserable.

Lily knew misery quite well.

Two years ago, she accidentally killed her girlfriend, Nina. The man with yellow eyes had visited her for the first time only days before. He'd told her about a special ability she possessed- the power to take life with a simple touch of her hand. She hadn't believed him until it was too late. Until Nina was dead because of her. After that, Lily moved as far away from her hometown of San Diego as she dared and isolated herself from anyone and everything she loved.

That special ability of hers had cost her everything. She brought the cigarette to her lips and sucked in a breath, all the while keeping her eyes on the sleeping pills.

The last time she'd slept, three days ago, the yellow-eyed man had told her once again to kill a guy named Sam Winchester. He told her once more where to find him. And again, he encouraged her to use her ability to do the job. But like always, Lily ignored his instructions. She didn't care about the warnings he gave her. The threats he made, what he said he'd do to her if she didn't kill Sam. She didn't care. She didn't care about anything anymore.

Lily Wilhite snuffed out her cigarette on the armrest of her sofa and reached for the sleeping pills. How easy it would be to down the container and end it all.

"Hey there, Lily," a deep voice said from behind.

Before she could react, two big brown hands slipped around her throat and squeezed tight.

Lily fell over, dead.

The killer moved away from Lily's body and nervously glanced around the apartment. He watched as a man stepped out of the shadows. Lily's killer gulped. He recognized the man from the shadows even before his eyes flashed yellow.

The yellow-eyed man glanced down at Lily's slumped-over corpse, face down in the ashes of the cigarette she'd just smoked. He shook his head. "Sad way to spend a Friday night, isn't it?"

Lily's killer was quiet.

A smile brightened Yellow Eyes' face. "Well, Jake, I'm impressed," he said. "I really am. You did everything I told you to do, and now, with that little nuisance outta the picture, guess what? You've made it to the top two. The final round of _Last Psychic Standing_."

'Jake' didn't respond.

Yellow Eyes gave him a slap on the shoulder. "Come now, Jake, turn that frown upside down. This really is something to celebrate. I mean, top two? This is big."

"Go to hell."

"Cute." He grinned. "Now, listen, Jake, I'm looking for the best. The strongest. And with your top two status, I'd say you've gotta shot at this."

"A shot at _what_? I'm sick of all your vague little hints. I wanna know the details about these big plans you've got laid out for me."

"In time, Jake. In time. But for now, I think we should concentrate on moving you forward in the competition. On taking you from runner-up to first place."

"And what else do I have to do to get there? Who else do I have to _kill_?"

"Oh, don't get yourself in a tizzy. You don't have to kill anyone right now. Your next assignment is super-duper easy. All I want you to do is meet me in Wyoming at these coordinates." Yellow Eyes handed him a folded slip of paper. "Right by the railroad tracks. Midnight tomorrow."

"That's it?"

"That's it for Step A."

"What's Step B?"

"You'll find out when you get there."

Jake clenched his jaw. "Or I could just kill you."

Yellow Eyes chuckled. "I don't mean to burst your bubble, Jake, but others have tried. It's not easy. Trust me. You want to be a good little soldier here."

Jake recalled his previous experiences with the yellow-eyed man. He'd been threatened before. Yellow Eyes had threatened to torture and kill his mother. His little sister. Jake knew arguing with him couldn't end well. "Okay," he said. "I'll meet you in Wyoming."

The demon smiled. "Good boy."

_Econo Lodge,_

_Antioch, Alabama._

_"Okay," Jake said. "I'll meet you in Wyoming."_

_The demon smiled. "Good boy."_

Sam awoke with a start, his mind filled with images from his nightmare: Lily, the blonde-haired girl smoking on her couch. The young black man named Jake hiding behind her. The way Jake had snapped Lily's neck as if it had been a twig.

He'd seen it all.

Yellow Eyes, emerging from the darkness to congratulate Jake for doing the job Sam refused to do- killing off Lily. This Jake guy was apparently the last of the psychics, the one he was up against, and the yellow-eyed demon was going to meet him in Wyoming at midnight tomorrow.

_Wyoming_.

Sam had to go there. He'd been unable to see the coordinates the demon had given Jake, but he had to at least try to find the place. Sam, Dean, Jennifer, and whoever else they could round up had to go there, find the demon, and find a way to kill it.

* * *

"Wyoming?" Jennifer repeated, looking at Sam as she went across her motel room to retrieve her overnight bag from the wardrobe.

"Yeah," Sam replied. "That's what the demon said in my dream."

She pulled open the closet and removed her bag. "Wyoming is a really long way from here."

Sam nodded. "I know. That's why we've gotta move fast."

"Listen, Jennifer," Dean began, "are you sure you wanna come with us? I mean…" He hesitated. "With the funeral and all tomorrow…"

She was quiet as she dropped her bag on the bed and unzipped it. She grabbed her cell phone charger and retainer from the nightstand and tossed them inside. Finally, she gave her answer. "Yeah. I'm sure."

"What about your family? Your sister will be coming home from school-"

"Dean," Jennifer said. "I've got a chance at killing the thing that…" She gulped. Zipped her bag closed. "The thing that killed my parents." She stared into his eyes as she slung the duffel over her shoulder. "I _have _to go."

He dipped his chin. "Okay."

"Is your stuff all packed?" Sam asked. "You ready?"

She exhaled loudly. "Yes."

Sam hurried toward the door. "Then let's head out."


	62. 1x13, II: Wyoming

_Sioux Falls, South Dakota._

_Eleven Hours Later._

Sam held his breath as he knocked on Bobby Singer's front door. He glanced anxiously at Dean and Jennifer, who stood next to him on the porch. After a moment's passing, the wooden door jerked open and revealed the bearded, flannel-clad, trucker-cap wearing hunter, who was looking especially sleepy-eyed this morning.

"Sheesh," Bobby exclaimed at the sight of them. "You said on the phone you'd git here fast, but that was record time, even for you, Dean. I barely had time to change outta my PJs."

Dean stared at him. "Well, we're glad you found the time."

Bobby stepped aside, allowing them entrance to his home. "Come in." He slapped each of the brothers on the shoulder as they moved inside. He nodded his head at Jennifer, who came in last. He closed the door behind her and looked at her. "Sure sorry to hear about your folks."

Jennifer responded with a slow nod. "Thank you."

Reluctantly, Bobby patted her shoulder as well. He turned to the Winchesters. "I just made a fresh pot of coffee. I'd suggest everybody grab a cup." He sighed. "Sounds like we've got our work cut out for us."

* * *

The four of them gathered around Bobby's kitchen table, mugs of joe in hand, ready to get to down to business.

"So." Bobby drew in a deep breath and spread a road map across the tabletop. "Wyoming," he said. "I didn't have time to find much, but I did find something. A place to start, anyway."

"What've you got?" Sam asked.

"Demonic omens. Loads of 'em. Cattle deaths, lightning storms, all skyrocketed from outta nowhere." Bobby pointed to the paper before them, a map of Wyoming. He gestured toward the lower half of the state. "They popped up all over the place, except for one spot. Southern Wyoming. That one area's totally clean."

Dean glanced at him. "What do you make of that?"

"Well…looks to me like…maybe demons are surrounding it."

"Why would they do that?" Jennifer asked.

Bobby shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. I'm not sure I even wanna know."He looked up at Sam. "There's a railroad that runs right through that area, Sam. Bet you anything that's where the yellow-eyed demon is meeting the psychic you saw in your dream." He swallowed. "Whatever is in Wyoming...it's big."

Unsettled by Bobby's comment, Jennifer exchanged worried glances with Dean.

"Bobby," Dean said, "is there anything new on how we could kill the demon?"

The man heaved a weary sigh. "There's a couple of special devil's traps we might could use, but those won't kill it. We'd only be able to trap it and exorcise it. I don't even know if that would work on a demon as powerful as that one." He frowned. "But as far as killing it goes…the only thing I found that can kill a demon is the Colt."

Dean, Sam, and Jennifer were clearly disappointed by the news.

"But," Bobby went on, "that don't necessarily mean there's not something out there we haven't heard of yet. Maybe somebody else knows something. Maybe there's-"

Sam's ringtone, an old-fashioned telephone ring, caused everyone in the room to jump. He removed his cell phone from a pocket of his jacket. "It's Ash," he informed them after checking the caller ID. He flipped it open and put it on speaker. "Hello?"

"_Sam. It's Ash. I, uh, I've got something. Something big. Huge."_

"What? What is it?"

"_I can't discuss it over the phone. We need to talk in person."_

"Ash-"

"_Just…just get to the Roadhouse. Quick." _

_Click._

Sam closed his flip phone and returned it to his pocket. "Let's go."

* * *

_Harvelle's Roadhouse,_

_Central Nebraska._

_Four Hours Later._

Ellen Harvelle was behind the counter, the sleeves of her denim shirt rolled up as she wiped down shot glasses when the Winchesters, Bobby Singer, and a young brunette she hadn't met darkened the door of her empty saloon. "Hey, fellas," she greeted them, setting her work aside. "Didn't expect you to get here so fast. What'd you do, jump through a black hole?"

"No," Bobby said, plopping onto a barstool. "Dean drove."

Dean just shrugged and sat down beside him.

"Well, it's damn good to see all of you." Ellen turned to Jennifer and gave her a crooked smile. "It's Jennifer, right? I'm Ellen. Glad to finally meet you, though I wish it wasn't under these circumstances." Her face softened. "You have my deepest sympathies, sweetheart."

Before anything else could be said, the voice of Ash bellowed throughout the empty bar. "Friggin' toilet's backed up again!" The single-named, Lynyrd-Skynyrd-roadie-look-a-like rounded the corner, mullet first, dressed in tight, acid-washed jeans and a cut-off plaid shirt. His eyes popped open wide when he spotted the visitors. "Damn! I didn't know you guys were here."

"Hey, Ash," Dean greeted him with a manly wave.

"Dean. Sam. Bobby." Ash acknowledged each of them. He whistled when he got to Jennifer. "And you must be Jennifer. _Damn._ Your profile picture doesn't do you justice."

Her forehead wrinkled with confusion. "Profile picture?"

"Yeah. I found you on Myspace."

Dean made a face. "You looked?"

Ash shrugged his exposed shoulders. "I had to check her out after you told me about her. Thought a friend request would be a little awkward, though."

"Well," Jennifer said, feeling a bit uncomfortable. "I, uh, it's nice to meet you. In person. I've heard a lot about you."

"That so?" Ash grinned. "All good, I hope."

She nodded.

"Ash, I think you're forgetting why you called us here," Sam spoke up.

"Nah." Ash propped himself on the counter. "I didn't forget. I'm just stalling 'cause I'm not too thrilled about what I gotta say."

"Why?" Sam asked. "What _do _you have to say?"

Ash heaved a sigh. Ran his fingers through his long, brown mullet. "Okay, look, guys, I don't know how else to say it." He sighed again. "The crap's about to hit the fan."

"Well, let's not sugarcoat it," Dean commented.

Ash reached inside his pants and pulled out a wadded-up map. Slapped it down on the counter top.

Ellen glared at him.

"What? I'll hit the counter with some bleach, okay?" Ash slid onto a barstool and nervously glanced around the bar before speaking, even though the six of them were the place's only occupants. He returned to the map. "Here's Wyoming. Lately, there's been omens-"

"We know about the omens," Sam cut to the chase. "We know the demons are surrounding a place in Southern Wyoming."

"But do you know why?" Ash asked with a raised eyebrow.

"No. You do?"

Ash directed their attention to an area on the map he had marked with five black X's. "See all these X's? Each 'X' is an abandoned frontier church. They're all connected to each other by private railway lines. Sam, those would be the railroad tracks the demon was talking about in your freaky psychic vision. Anybody got a pen?"

Sam removed a Pilot G-2 gel pen from his jacket and handed it to him.

"Now, each of these churches was built in the mid-1800's by Samuel Colt. The same Samuel Colt who made _the _Colt. He built all these railway lines, too." Ash clicked the top of Sam's pen, releasing the tip. "And it just so happens that the tracks lay out…just like this." With the ink pen, he connected the X's on the map. The lines created a pentacle.

"A Devil's Trap?" Sam was stunned as he stared at the paper. "A 100-square-mile Devil's Trap."

Dean shook his head. "That's brilliant. Railroad tracks are made of iron. Demons can't get across."

"It makes sense," Sam said. "That's why the yellow-eyed demon wants to meet Jake by the tracks. He can't get across, but _Jake _can. Whatever is inside this giant Devil's Trap, Yellow Eyes is gonna make sure he gets it."

"Do you know what's inside?" Jennifer asked Ash.

He rubbed his chin. "Yeah…I think I might. But it ain't pretty."

"Give it to us anyway," Dean urged him.

"Well, dead center of the trap, there's an old cowboy cemetery."

"A cemetery?" Sam's brow furrowed. "What's so important about an old cemetery? What would Samuel Colt have hidden there that all these demons would be after?"

"Another weapon, maybe? Something more powerful than the gun?" Jennifer suggested.

Ash considered it for a moment. "…Maybe. But I'm thinkin' it's the other way around."

"What do you mean?" Bobby asked.

Ash was quiet for a moment.

"Hold on," Dean said. "Are you saying Colt wasn't trying to keep the demons _out_? He was trying to keep something _in_?"

Uneasy silence took over the room.

"There's a legend," Ash finally said, "about a gate to Hell. A door, hidden some place on Earth, that leads straight to the pit."

"You've gotta be kidding me," Dean said. "A literal door to Hell? In…Wyoming?"

"You don't think…" Bobby trailed off, considering the possibilities. "Good Lord."

"His army," Sam gasped. The realization felt like a kick in the gut. "The yellow-eyed demon wants Jake to open the gate and release his army." He swallowed hard. "The army that one of us psychics is supposed to lead."

"I told you," Ash sighed. "This is big. End of the world big."

Ellen poured herself a shot of whiskey. Two more when Dean and Bobby gave her the signal. Ash took the bottle.

"Compadres, I hope I'm wrong," Ash said, taking a long swig of alcohol. "Because if I'm not…the crap's fixin' to start flyin'."

"We've gotta get to that cemetery before Jake does," Sam told them. "We've gotta stop him from opening that gate." A pause. "He's gonna meet Yellow Eyes beside the tracks. That means the demon will be close. Ash, do you know of a way to kill it?"

"Besides the Colt?"

Sam nodded.

"I hate to be the bearer of more bad news, but the _only _thing that can kill a demon is the Colt."

"You're absolutely certain?" Dean asked.

Ash downed more liquor. "There's a few rumors floating around about other weapons. There's one about another gun. One about a special knife. But like I said. Those are just _rumors_. A.K.A…bull hockey. Nobody's seen one yet."

"But you're saying there might be something else out there," Sam said.

"That's a big-ass 'might'. And even if there is, you wouldn't have a snowball's chance of finding anything before tonight."

Jennifer stared at the countertop, completely deflated.

Dean wasn't ready to give up. "Come on, Ash, there's gotta be something. There's gotta be a way to waste this bastard."

"Not unless we find the Colt in the next eight hours, which would be equally impossible," Ash told him. "I'm sorry, man. But that's the facts."

* * *

_Interstate 80 West._

Dean removed his eyes from the four lanes of gray to once again check the time on the Impala's dashboard. _6:00 PM_. Six hours until midnight. He released the breath he'd been unconsciously holding and eased up a bit on the gas pedal. They were at the edge of Nebraska, about to cross the state line into Pine Bluffs, Wyoming. As fast as they were going, they would arrive at their destination by eight if they weren't stopped for speeding.

He glanced in the rearview mirror. Ellen and Bobby were close behind. He gripped the steering wheel tight and focused on the road. Or tried to, anyway. His mind was in a frenzy- an angry, frustrated, close-to-panicking frenzy. He could tell Sam and Jennifer weren't any better off.

Sam was in the backseat after having thoughtfully surrendered shotgun to Jennifer for the evening. Ash's map of Wyoming, pages of information he'd printed from the internet, and Dad's open journal covered his lap. He was determined not to waste the last few hours they had.

Jennifer sat next to Dean, staring quietly out the window at the blur of passing trees. She looked every bit as distressed as he felt and more, considering her parents had been put in the ground a few short hours ago without her there to witness it. No doubt she was dwelling on the idea that she'd missed their funeral for nothing.

The silence that filled the Impala was uncomfortable, but there was nothing to say to end it. Nothing at all. So, Dean reached for the stereo and flipped on the radio. AC/DC's "Highway to Hell" sounded from the speakers.

"_-my friends are gonna be there too... I'm on the highway to Hell…highway to Hell…"_

Jennifer sighed. "That's kind of ironic, isn't it?"

Dean looked at her as Bon Scott continued screeching: _"I'm on the highway to Hell..." _At any other time, Dean would have cranked it up and sang along, but now, he turned the song down. "Yeah," he said. "Ironic."

She reached inside her purse, which was in the seat next to her, and removed her Motorola RAZR. She flipped the phone open. Though she didn't want to admit it, she was disappointed by what she found: no missed calls.

"Heard from anybody back home?" Dean asked her.

She sighed. "No." She clapped her phone shut and slipped it back into her bag. "No one." She stared out the windshield. "Not anyone from church. Not Alanna." A pause. "Not even my sister."

Dean didn't know what to say, so he said nothing.

"I just wonder how she's holding up," Jennifer said. "I feel so bad about leaving everything up to her, you know?"

"You're doing what you've gotta do," Dean tried to assure her.

"Yeah, but she doesn't know that. She doesn't have a clue. All she knows, all the rest of the family knows, is that I ran away from home last year with two shady guys I barely knew and never came back. Not even for my own parents' funeral."

"So, what, you'd rather them all know the truth?"

"I don't know," Jennifer breathed. "Shouldn't they know?"

"No."

"Okay, so, you're telling me that if you were in my place, you'd lie to everyone?" she asked Dean. "When this demon killed _your _parents, what if Sam hadn't known the truth? What if they were killed while he was away at Stanford, living a normal college student life, working toward becoming a lawyer, and never knowing anything about demons or hunting, but _you _knew. Sam didn't have a clue, but _you _knew that a demon had killed your parents. If that was the case, would you lie to Sam? Would you keep him in the dark?"

Sam glanced up from his research, curious to hear Dean's answer.

Dean kept his eyes on the road. "I can't say I wouldn't," he said after a long period of silence. "Sometimes ignorance really is bliss."

"How?"

"Your sister was valedictorian of her high school class, right? She got a full ride to some fancy-pants private school halfway across the country, and now she's livin' the dream, working on a nursing degree like your parents always hoped she would," Dean said. "Right?"

She nodded.

"If you tell her the truth, you'll throw all that away. You'll mix her up in all this mess when she doesn't have to be mixed up in it. She doesn't have to know what's really out there. She can still go to bed at night feeling safe," Dean said. "If she thinks her parents died in an accidental fire, she's got a shot at having a normal life. If I were you, I'd let her keep it."

No one argued with him. In fact, no one spoke again for several miles.


	63. 1X13, III: Door to Hell

_Southern Wyoming._

A couple of minutes before midnight, Jake Talley pulled his white Oldsmobile to the side of the railroad tracks and cut off the engine. He stepped out of the vehicle and into the night. He waited.

"Howdy, Jake," a familiar voice said from behind.

Jake pivoted on his heel to find the yellow-eyed demon only inches away. He grunted at the sight of him.

"You're punctual. I like that," the demon said.

"I came all the way out here. That's Step A, right? Now what?"

"To the point. I like that, too." Yellow Eyes grinned. "Yes. Check off Step A. For Step B, I need you to go fifty miles that way." He pointed north, across the railroad tracks. "You'll come to a cemetery. There'll be a crypt. I need you to open that for me."

Jake rolled his eyes. "Why can't you do it yourself?"

"I just can't. Now, to get inside that crypt, you'll need this." The demon reached into his jacket and removed The Colt. The antique, demon-killing handgun glistened in the moonlight as he held it up for Jake to see.

Jake's eyes narrowed on the weapon. "A gun. What the hell is it with you and killing people?"

"This gun isn't meant to kill anyone, Jake. Not here, not tonight. This gun is special. It's the key that opens the crypt."

"That doesn't make any sense."

Yellow Eyes handed the gun to him. "It will when ya get there, sport. Now start walkin'."

"Whatever, man," Jake huffed. "Screw you. I'm tired of this sh-"

"Oh, come now, Jake. Is another little chat about your mommy and sis _really _necessary? What happened to you being a good little soldier?"

"What happened? You're telling me to open a crypt. What's in it? Huh? What's inside this freaky cemetery that you're making _me _let out?"

"I don't want you worrying about that." He stuffed his hands into his pants pockets. "You just do this one, itsy-bitsy thing for me, and I promise, you'll be rewarded. Big time." He smiled. "Trust me."

"Why would I do that?"

"Listen, Jake. Everything comes down to tonight. After this is over, I'll never bother you again. I promise"

Jake eyed him warily.

"Cross my heart," the demon drew an 'X' across his chest, "and hope to die." He nudged the young man toward the tracks. "Go on, Jake."

After a moment of hesitation, Jake slipped the Colt into his jacket. "Okay. Fine."

* * *

_Fossil Butte Cemetery,_

_Southern Wyoming_

Some time later, Jake pushed open the iron cemetery gates and cautiously wandered inside. He swallowed hard, struggling to steady his breath. He'd fought in Afghanistan, seen his friends blown to bits in front of him, but this place immediately gave him the creeps. Eerie stillness. Odd-shaped shadows. Ancient, vine-covered tombstones marking the bodies of the dead.

Jake had a strong sense that he was not alone.

His strong sense was right on the money. Scattered across the graveyard, behind those ancient, vine-covered tombstones, a group of hunters hid. Dean, Sam, Jennifer, Bobby and Ellen crouched in the shadows, guns in hand as they anticipated Jake's arrival.

Jake felt a chill as he spotted the crypt. The stone mausoleum bearing the name _Colt _was straight in front of him. Only a few more steps, and it would all be over. That is, if the yellow-eyed man was telling the truth. Jake knew that was unlikely, but he also knew better than to ignore the man's instructions.

He pulled the Colt from his jacket and advanced toward the crypt.

"Jake," Sam got his attention as he moved from behind a large headstone with a gun in his hand.

The other four hunters did the same, surrounding Jake on all sides.

Jake turned to face them, startled. He tightened his grip on the Colt. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"We could ask you the same question," Dean said.

"What is this, some kinda trap?"

"We know about him, Jake. The man with the yellow eyes," Sam said. "You can't do what he told you to do. He's a demon."

"A what? You're crazy."

"He's not crazy," Dean said.

"Put the gun down, Jake," Sam said. "Let's talk." Jake didn't drop the gun, but Sam went on. "We know about the psychic you killed. Lily? In Minnesota? The demon made you kill her. He threatened you if you didn't. You can't give in to him again, Jake. Something terrible will happen."

"How do you know so much about all this?" Jake thought for a second. "Wait. Wait a second." A look of enlightenment settled across his features. "It's you. Isn't it? You're the other one, the one I'm up against!"

Sam didn't deny it. "Jake, you and I, we're a part of something-"

Jake raised the Colt and aimed it Sam. "I oughta just kill you now and get this all over with."

"You take one shot at him, you'll be dead before you hit the ground," Dean threatened, raising his gun.

Jake whirled around. "Okay," he said, cocking the Colt. "Then maybe I'll shoot _you _first."

"Alright, take it easy, son," Bobby told him.

"And if I don't?"

"Take a look around, Jake," Sam said. "You're outnumbered. So put down the gun, and let's figure this out."

Jake followed only the first part of Sam's directions. He glanced around at the group of people. His eyes moved from face to face. His gaze stopped on Jennifer. He sized her up and chuckled to himself when the eye contact made her flinch.

"What are you laughing at, you little bitch?" Dean snarled defensively.

"Hey, cutie," Jake said to Jennifer. He chuckled louder as fear covered her face. A flash of evil darkened his eyes. "Put that gun to your pretty head."

The group watched in terror as Jennifer lifted a trembling hand to her head and placed the muzzle of her pistol against her right temple.

Dean reeled toward her. "Jennifer, no!"

Jake laughed even louder. He thrust out his hand and psychically froze Dean mid-step. Dean's gun dropped to the ground. Jake shoved him backwards and pinned him against one of the larger tombstones. "I don't think you know who you're messing with," he said, turning to Sam. "I've got all kinda tricks up my sleeve. See, that man with the yellow eyes? He's got plans for me-"

"Let her go!" Dean shouted at him.

"Let them go, Jake," Sam demanded.

Jennifer shook as she tried to pull the gun away from her head. It only moved closer. She peered at Dean from the corner of her eye. "Dean," she whispered.

Desperately, Dean tried to pull away from the tombstone that held him captive, but Jake's psychic force was too strong. He couldn't move an inch. "Somebody shoot him!" he yelled helplessly.

"You'll be mopping up her brains before any of you gets a shot off," Jake said. "Now everybody, put your guns on the ground." He grinned at Jennifer. "Except you, sweetheart."

A tear slipped down her cheek.

Bobby, Ellen, and Sam reluctantly placed their guns on the dirt.

"Alright. Good." Jake backed up, placing himself only a yard or two away from the crypt. "Thank you." He whipped around and faced the tomb.

There was only one opening in the center of the double iron doors, a hole in the middle of a bronze devil's trap. He jammed the Colt into the hole and backed away.

*

With Jake's back now to them, Bobby and Ellen ran to Jennifer's side to pull away the pistol before she shot herself. Again, Dean struggled to move, but Jake's powers held him still.

Sam scrambled for one of the guns on the ground.

Jake kept his eyes on the crypt.

Sam retrieved a handgun, cocked it, and pulled the trigger. Three shots pounded into Jake's back. Sam watched as the young black man dropped to the ground. He towered over the fallen body, watching the blood rush through the holes in Jake's jacket.

When Jake breathed his last, Dean was released from his psychic grip. He hurried to his feet and went to Jennifer.

Sam's quivering hand dropped the gun that had killed Jake Talley. He stared down at the lifeless corpse of the psychic, horrified as he realized what he had just done. The last of the demon's special children was dead. Sam had killed him.

Bobby gasped as he watched the door of the crypt. The two bronze circles that made up the outer rim of the devil's trap began to spin in opposite directions. The doors began to rattle. A deep rumble sounded from the other side.

"Oh, no," Bobby breathed.

"What, Bobby?" Ellen asked. Then she saw what he saw.

He gulped. "It's too late."

The devil's trap suddenly stopped spinning. They heard a click as the lock disengaged.

"Sam, get away from there!" Bobby called out as he and Ellen ducked behind a grave marker. "Everybody, take cover! Now!"

Sam jumped away from the crypt and dove behind a large marble statue of an angel.

Dean grabbed Jennifer's hand and pulled them behind the nearest tombstone.

The door to the crypt burst open.


	64. 1x13, IV: The Beginning of the End

An enormous black mass exploded from the open crypt and smothered Fossil Butte Cemetery with darkness. Thunder shook the ground beneath the hunters. Lightning streaked the sky. The monstrous cloud of demons shot through the graveyard with such force it burned straight through the railroad tracks, releasing the spirits into the world and scattering them across the miles.

"Come on!" Ellen shouted above the pandemonium. She and Bobby struggled to their feet. "We've gotta shut that gate!"

Dean held Jennifer tightly as they crouched together behind a tombstone. "Let's go," he urged her, helping her up.

Several feet away, Sam pushed himself up from the ground and stared in astonishment at the chaos around them. Then, through the gust of passing demons, he saw something that made his heart jump inside his chest. The Colt was lying on the ground beside the crypt, beside Jake's trampled body. _The Colt_. Only a few yards away. "The Colt was the key!" he yelled. "We have to get it!"

The group of hunters wrestled their way across the cemetery toward the mausoleum. Toward the Colt. But before they could reach the weapon, a part of the giant black entity swept down, snatched it up, and disappeared into the night.

"No!" Sam cried. His eyes scanned the cemetery, hoping the gun would magically reappear. "It's gone!"

Dean cursed loudly.

"Boys!" Bobby hollered at them as he and Ellen reached the crypt. He groaned as he pushed all his weight against one of the doors.

With dozens of demons and a handful of lucky dead people rushing past them, Sam, Dean, and Jennifer hurried to help. They came to the crypt, to the opening of Hell, and shoved themselves against the doors with all the strength they possessed. Inch by inch, the iron doors moved inward. Hell's fire escape grew narrower.

The doors finally snapped back into place. The bronze devil's trap locked once again. The black demon cloud completely vanished.

Exhausted and gasping for breath, the hunters looked at one another. They'd stopped the last good-psychic-gone-bad and relocked the gate to Hell, but their expressions were far from celebratory.

The Colt was still gone. The yellow-eyed demon was still out there. And now, a couple hundred more demons were out there, too- a couple hundred more demons to form an army.

* * *

The group of hunters held up in the first empty house they came to- an old, two-story farmhouse situated two acres away from the road. Though the place had probably been built in the late 1800's, it had undergone a complete renovation in the last twenty years or so. Decent furnishings remained in each room, suggesting the place had been abandoned fairly recently, but the presence of dust and cobwebs and the lack of electricity, water, and food in the fridge indicated the homeowners were probably not returning any time soon. As a matter of fact, judging by the granny-themed décor that consisted of numerous doilies and framed, cross-stitched cats, the owner, whose name must have been something like Myrtle or Edna, was probably dead.

The five of them heavily salted all entrances to the house, gathered flashlights, candles, and a few antique oil lamps belonging to Myrtle/Edna, and settled in for the night to hopefully get some rest.

Upstairs, Dean wandered down the hallway and stopped outside the room Jennifer was staying in. The door was open. From where he stood, he could see her sitting on the dead old lady's bed, shoulders hunched as she studied a thick, leather-bound book in the dim light of a pink oil lamp.

He lingered in the doorway, watching her. "Look at you," he said softly. "Getting all cozy in a stranger's bed after breaking into their house."

"Yeah." Jennifer didn't look up. "I'm a regular Goldilocks."

"A Goldilocks reference? That's pretty weak." He crossed the threshold into the room. "I mean, _Sam _weak."

Lightning flashed through the lacy mauve curtains that covered the room's only window. A clap of thunder sent a shudder throughout the house. It hadn't stopped storming since the gate to Hell had been opened.

"Anyway," Dean said, moving closer to her. "I'm just surprised at how comfortable you've become with breaking the law."

"Well," she said. "I guess that's what happens after a year and a half with you and Sam. Trespassing, breaking and entering, whatever we're guilty of tonight…it really doesn't matter after all the crap we've seen."

"Very true." Dean came to a stop at the bedside. "Whatcha readin'?"

She sighed heavily. "The Book of Revelation."

"The Bible?" he asked with raised eyebrows.

She nodded. "After what Ash said about it being the end of the world…" She swallowed. "After tonight, in the cemetery…"

He sat down on the pink quilt and faced her.

"I don't know," she said. "I just wanted to do a little research, I guess."

Dean nodded. "What'd you find?"

She sighed again. "It talks about an army. A huge army that will rise to 'slay a third of all mankind'."

"A _third?_"

"I know. I'm scared that army, or at least part of it, climbed out of that gate tonight," she told him. "And that's gotta be the army the yellow-eyed demon wants one of his psychic children to lead." She paused. "Wants Sam to lead."

"Yeah, well, sucks for them. They'll have to find somebody else for that job."

Jennifer sat quietly, staring off into space. Finally, she opened her mouth to speak. "My whole life, I've heard people talk about the end of time. The Apocalypse. The Antichrist. The Rapture. I've sat through sermon after sermon about it. I've heard my parents talk about the 'signs of the times'." She shook her head. "When my parents first got internet, my grandmother was convinced it was the end."

Dean made a face at that last bit.

"But this…" Jennifer said. "This is it. This is the real thing." Her eyes glazed over as she looked at him. "We saw Hell tonight, Dean. _Hell_. Coming to Earth to actually fulfill all these prophecies that have been preached over and over again."

A bolt of lightning shot across the sky. The thunder that followed caused the window to rattle in its frame.

"I was taught that as a Christian, I'm supposed to be happy about these things," she told him, "because it means Jesus is about to come back and take all his followers to Heaven." She glanced down at the text for a second. "But a third of all mankind has to be killed first," she glanced back at him, her voice faltering, "and we just unleashed half of the army that will do it." She blinked. "I'm sorry, but I can't be happy about that."

"No," he said. "And I'd be scared if you were."

"It's just…everything that's supposed to happen...it's so terrible. Before now, it was just a sermon. You know? A story." She hesitated. "The idea that God is really going to sit back and let all this happen to the people He created…" She closed the Bible and set it aside. "I don't know, it was just easier to believe and follow God when _this part _was on paper. Not staring us all in the face."

Dean drew in a deep breath. He dipped his head. He could see where she was coming from, for sure. That was pretty much the way he felt about it all. Still, for some reason, it disheartened him to hear her say such things. "Jennifer," he heard himself say. "I know you've been through a lot lately. But I don't wanna see you lose your faith."

Her eyes widened.

He stared at the quilt as he continued. "I just don't. I mean, it's one of the things I admire about you. It's just who you are." Dean looked at her. "And I don't think I could stand to lose your optimism. We need it if we're gonna get through this. If we've gotta see all this pain and bloodshed that's supposed to come, one of us has gotta hope that something good is at the end of it all."

Jennifer nodded as her eyes glistened with tears. She quickly blinked them away.

Dean eased back onto the mattress. "You know," he said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "I, uh, I realized something tonight. In the graveyard."

"What?"

More lightning. More thunder.

He swallowed. "While Jake had that gun to your head, I kept thinkin'…" He swallowed again. The lump in his throat was almost painful. "I kept wondering what I would do if he made you pull the trigger."

Her eyes dropped to the quilt.

"When we first met, I know I was kind of an ass to you," he admitted. "And I know I said that me and Sam get along just fine by ourselves, but…I've sorta gotten used to having you around. We've been through a lot of sticky situations together, you know? We've saved each other's asses time and time again."

She listened with anticipation and tried to figure out where he was going with this.

"I, uh, I really don't know what I'd do without you now," Dean told her. "Truth is…I love you, Jennifer."

Her breath snagged in her throat. The words took her by surprise. Very pleasant surprise. She swallowed. "I, uh, I don't know what I'd do without you either, Dean," she said. "You've listened to me from the start. You believed me when I told you about my premonitions. You cared enough about me to drag me all over the country with you and Sam, even though you definitely didn't want to, and you trained me to hunt." She reached for his hand and took it into her own. "Last Christmas, you bought eggnog and came over to my room so I wouldn't have to be alone on Christmas Eve."

He smiled.

"When Dustin died, you were the _only _person who even acknowledged that losing him affected me. In Virginia, when I got shot, you came to me, even though I might have had that demonic virus." She scooted closer to him. "And this past week…" Her eyes misted over. "I lost both of my parents, and nobody I've ever cared about seems to give a crap." She lifted a hand to his face. "Except you." She caressed his cheek. "You've been…so, so good to me, Dean." A tear forced its way out. "I love you too."

She kissed him.

When they pulled away from each other, Dean took a deep breath. He stared into her eyes. He wet his lips. Wondering what the _crap _had gotten into him, he blurted, "Will you marry me?"

Jennifer's heart skipped a beat.

"For real this time," he added quickly. "No aliases."

She blinked. "Are you serious?"

"Yes, I am," he said confidently. "I know it's fast. And it's freaking…insane." He gulped. "But why the hell not?"

She stared at him.

"I mean, we're practically married now anyway," he said. "We're together 24/7. We fight. You nag me all the time."

"I do your laundry."

"See?"

She smiled, excited by the excitement in his voice.

"Whaddya say we make it official, huh?" He grinned, bouncing his eyebrows playfully. "Enjoy the perks?"

She rolled her eyes.

"I mean, this could be the end of the world we're lookin' at, right?" His tone grew more serious. He slowed down, choosing his words carefully. "I don't know how much time we have left. And I'm not one for cheesy moments, you know that, but, uh...I'd really like to spend the rest of that time with you."

She squeezed his hand gently.

He cleared his throat. "Yeah. So. Like I said. End of the world. Might as well jump in and do something crazy."

"Yeah," she said, smiling. "Might as well."

Lightning lit up the room.

"Let's do it, Dean," Jennifer told him eagerly, lowering her voice to something close to a whisper.

Thunder bellowed from above. The bed quivered beneath them. The framed cross-stitch mounted on the wall behind Jennifer's head- a yellow tabby in a basket of flowers- wobbled on its nail.

He grinned at her. "Okay."

* * *

Early the next morning, Dean came downstairs to find Sam and Bobby alone in the kitchen of the abandoned farmhouse, talking quietly over Styrofoam cups of gas station coffee. Ellen had already headed back to the Roadhouse, they told him. After grabbing himself a cup of caffeine, Dean broke the news of his engagement.

"Me and Jennifer are gettin' married."

"_What?_" Sam exclaimed, nearly dropping his coffee.

"I sorta popped the question last night, and she said yes."

Sam stared at him for a long time. Finally, he managed to ask, "Are you…_drunk?_"

"Nope," Dean replied with a grin.

"He's just crazy," Bobby said.

Dean shrugged. He didn't deny it.

"Just-just hold on a second," said Sam. "I'm having some serious déjà vu here. I seem to recall Jennifer in a leather miniskirt, you walking around belting out Whitesnake, and uh, the two of you running off to Vegas and getting married in a drive-thru."

"Well, Sam," Dean said, "I don't see Jennifer sporting any miniskirt, and I'm not exactly busting out power ballads. There was no geek-made love potion. Not this time."

"He really is just crazy," Bobby repeated.

Dean grinned.

"Lord help us," Bobby said. He shook his head. "Dean Winchester getting married. Really _is _the end of the world."

"_Marriage_." Sam kept staring at his brother. "You're sure about this? Really sure?"

"Really sure, Sam. Like Bobby said. Could be the end of the world."

"Not if we can help it," Sam protested.

Dean's excitement faded. "Dude, you're the one who told me to go for it. Remember? I went for it. So did she. What happened to you wanting us to be happy?"

"I do. I do want you to be happy, Dean. It's all just…really fast."

"Well, now maybe so, Sam," Bobby spoke up, "but you saw how many demons got through that gate last night. A whole friggin' army. Ash was right, the crap's about to hit the fan." He shrugged his shoulders. "If I was young and in love, I'd be haulin' ass too."

Sam heaved a sigh. "Yeah. I guess so." He looked at Dean. "Well." He slapped his big brother on the shoulder. "Congratulations, Dean. When's the big day?"

"Uh, well..." Dean scratched his scalp. "We're thinkin' about heading to the nearest courthouse first thing tomorrow."

"Oh, uh, wow," Sam stuttered. "Jeez. That _is _fast."

Dean frowned at him.

Sam gave a slight shrug. "But, uh, the sooner the better, I guess."

"I suppose you'll need a couple of witnesses," Bobby said. "Is there gonna be any cake afterwards?"

"Damn straight, if I have any say in it," Dean said, grinning.

"Well, then," Bobby sighed, "you can count me in."


	65. 1x13, V: And the Winner Is

_Sioux Falls, South Dakota._

The next day, Dean and Jennifer found themselves standing in front of a gray-haired justice of the peace, wearing the dressiest outfits they owned. For Dean, that was his black suit, black tie, and white collared dress shirt. For Jennifer- the black, knee-length chiffon dress and matching patent pumps she'd been wearing the day they met.

Sam and Bobby, the only witnesses to the courthouse ceremony, dressed up for the occasion as well. Bobby had even bothered to comb his hair.

After a brief introduction, the justice of the peace smiled gently and began. "Do you, Dean, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

Dean couldn't help but smile. "I do."

"And do you, Jennifer, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

She smiled back. "I do."

"Please, join hands."

As the couple followed his instructions and began repeating their vows, Sam raised the disposable camera he'd picked up at Al's Gas 'n' Go and snapped a couple of photos.

There, inside the stuffy old judicial building, in front of the few family and friends that were still alive to witness the event, Dean and Jennifer promised to remain faithful to each other from that day forward. For better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health…

"-until death do us part," the justice read the final line.

Jennifer shivered as she stared into Dean's eyes. "Until death do us part."

The justice gave a cheerful smile. "Then by the authority vested in me by the statutes of the state of South Dakota, I am pleased to pronounce you husband and wife." He winked at Dean. "Go on now, son. Seal the deal."

"Yes, sir," Dean obliged, grinning. He wrapped his arms around his bride and pulled her into a long, sweet kiss.

"Gentlemen," the justice of the peace said, turning to the small crowd, "I present to you for the first time- Mr. and Mrs. Dean Winchester."

Smiling, Sam and Bobby clapped awkwardly.

_That night._

That evening, Sam and Bobby took Mr. and Mrs. Dean Winchester out for dinner at a nicer restaurant than usual. For an hour, they celebrated. They enjoyed their meal. They ordered dessert. For an hour, they forgot about the two hundred new demons that were on the loose. They pushed the approaching end of the world from their minds and stuffed themselves with chocolate lava cake. They relished each other's company. They were a normal, happy family.

For an hour.

After that, it was back to business. At least for Sam and Bobby. For Dean and Jennifer, business would resume the next morning.

While the newlyweds were out spending their first night together at a local motel, Sam went back to Bobby's place for the night. The two men presently sat at the kitchen table, discussing the latest developments in the end of the days.

"The night that gate opened," Bobby told Sam, "there were reports of strange black clouds hovering over seventeen different cities. Seventeen."

"But nothing's happened?"

Bobby nodded. "Nothing at all. 'Course, it's only been two days. But I woulda thought _something _woulda happened by now. _Somewhere_."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "I know."

"Scares me to say it, but it's like the demons are waiting for something."

"What could they be waiting for?"

Bobby shrugged his shoulders. "Hell if I know."

They sat in mutual silence.

"Well," Bobby said, scooting his chair away from the table. "I think I'm gonna go hit the hay. Between this end of the world stuff and wedding stuff, I'm worn out."

Sam stood to his feet as well. "That makes two of us." He pushed his chair neatly under the table. "Goodnight, Bobby."

"'Night, son. See ya in the A.M." Bobby patted him on the shoulder before heading down the hallway to his bedroom.

Yawning, Sam followed the same hallway to the spare bedroom. He entered the black room and flipped on the light. Closed the door behind him. The small room remained dark, even with the light on, thanks to the wood paneling, window shades, and plentiful stacks of books. The floor was covered in hardcover volumes on the supernatural. Row after row of big, thick ones stacked halfway to the ceiling. Bobby had enough books to start a library.

Sam slipped out of his jacket and draped it across one of the book stacks. A cloud of dust rose from the contact, but he didn't seem to notice. The whole place looked as though it hadn't been cleaned in decades, but none of it bothered Sam. He knew Bobby wasn't exactly _Good Housekeeping _material. And Sam had stayed in _much _dingier places. He was just happy to be in the home of a friend rather than some random cheap motel.

He plopped down onto the bed and began untying his shoe laces.

"There she is, Miss America."

Every muscle in Sam's body tensed. He recognized that voice. He didn't have to turn around to know that the yellow-eyed demon was behind him.

"Howdy, Sam. Congratulations," the demon continued. "You're it. The last man standing. The American Idol."

Sam rose to his feet and faced him. "What are you doing here?"

"I gotta tell you, Sam. You had me worried there for a while. You've been riding the bench the whole game. Sitting it out. Then finally, in the last quarter, you jumped in and played your heart out, just like I knew you could. It was your moment to shine, and boy, did you shine. Made me proud, Sammy. You really did."

Sam's jaw tightened. "I had no choice but to kill Jake. You set me up."

"No, you didn't _have _to kill Jake. You had a choice. We both know that. But what's done is done. Jake was the weakest link, and now he's gone. It's all about you now." The demon strolled across the floor toward him. "Oh, by the way, I hear Dean and Jennifer tied the knot. That's great news, too." Yellow Eyes grinned. "They really are a match made in Heaven. Or...somewhere."

Sam wrinkled his forehead.

"So, things really are looking up, huh? The other nine psychics are history, half the army is out of Hell, and here you are, all ready to lead it."

"I'll _never _lead your army."

"That so? I'll bet you thought you'd never kill Jake either. Or Ava. Don't sell yourself short, Sam. I know there's a born leader in there somewhere."

Sam held his breath. "What exactly am I supposed to lead this army to do?"

Yellow Eyes grinned wider. "Why, Sam. I'm glad you asked. I've got loads of fun activities planned for you and your followers. But I'm not telling you anything until you make me a promise."

"What kind of promise?"

"As the chosen leader, you've got to solemnly swear that you'll do whatever is necessary to win this war. Whatever is…_asked _of you."

"Why the hell would you think I would do that?"

The demon heaved a sigh. "Well, Sam, I think you might do it if you knew something would happen to your brother if you didn't."

Sam swallowed hard.

"Just think about it, Sam. If you promise me this, the rest of your life, the rest of Dean's and his blushing bride's, will be money and honey, health and wealth, every-day-is-ice-cream-sundae. And all you gotta do is this one little thing."

"One little thing? You're talking about the end of the world."

"No, not the end. The beginning. The start of a better world where your family will be protected." The demon's eyes flickered with excitement. "More than that, they'll be royalty. And all you have to do is surrender yourself to us."

"What if I just kill you instead?"

Yellow Eyes chuckled. "Kill me? You had the Colt right in front of you, and you let some other lucky bozo get to it first. There's no way you can kill me, and you know it."

Sam said nothing.

"So, whaddya say, Sambo? Ready to give in, all or nothin'?"

Staring his enemy in the eyes, he stated flatly, "No."

"My, my. How shocking," the demon sighed, rolling his yellow eyes. He stroked his chin as he paced across the floor. "Okay. I'll tell ya what. I'm gonna let you slide, Sam, just this once." He stopped. Folded his arms across his chest. "You don't have to give me an answer just yet. I'm gonna give you some time to think about it. To consider just how good of a deal this really is. How's that sound?"

"Like a load of crap."

The demon laughed. "Please. I've waited two-thousand years for this. What's one more?"

Sam didn't feel any easier about it.

"I think I'll just slip off the radar for a while," Yellow Eyes said. "Maybe take a little trip down under, where I know I'll be safe from you and your pesky little hunter friends." He stared into Sam's eyes. "But trust me, I will be back, Sam. _I will_. And when I come back for you, I feel sure that you'll be ready."

Sam blinked and the demon was gone.


	66. 2x01, I: Preacher Man

**A/N**: Dude. I don't know about you, but I'm still feeling shocked and slightly disoriented from last night's season finale! Jeez! What'd you guys think about the episode? I'm very interested in hearing some theories. So far, I've only been able to find two words to describe the forty-five minutes of epicness: _holy crap_. Way to make an exit, Kripke. :\ It's gonna be a long summer! **Anyway**, to fill my rapidly growing _Supernatural _void (and hopefully some of yours), here is the very happy, optimistic beginning of the second half of the _The Good Fight._ *eyeroll* Thank you all so much for faithfully reading and encouraging me with such wonderful reviews. I hope to keep hearing from you guys!

* * *

**"Run Through The Jungle"

* * *

**

_Trinity Christian Church,_

_Bethsaida, Arkansas._

_Three Months Later._

Reverend Gary Fulton trembled as he stood behind the pulpit of the church he had pastored for seventeen years. His calves ached as they struggled to support his weight. Sweat poured down his forehead and leaked through his eyebrows, blurring his vision. He pulled his already soaked handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit coat and dabbed at the perspiration as he stared out at his congregation. The crowd of faithful Christians assumed a most reverent stance. Their heads were bowed. Their eyes were closed. It was time to pray.

Yes. It was time for the preacher to pray. Reverend Gary Fulton had just finished his Sunday morning sermon, and now the time had come for him to lead a prayer over the offering they were about to receive. But the trembling reverend couldn't do it. He wouldn't. He wasn't going to pray to a God he no longer believed in.

Unable to control himself, Reverend Gary Fulton leapt from the pulpit and pushed his way through the congregation, hurrying to escape the sanctuary. He ran down a side aisle and darted into the men's restroom. Locked the door behind him. Collapsed onto the sink, sobbing.

He lifted his head slowly and glanced at his pathetic reflection. His hair was a mess, his clothes were a mess, and he looked as though he hadn't slept in days because he hadn't. He looked into the mirror, into his own eyes. They were so tired. So empty. He didn't recognize himself anymore.

How had this happened? More than that, how had he come to deny God? To _hate _the mere thought of Him?

Gary had just spent the last twenty minutes rambling on in front of the congregation about the comfort the Lord provided in times of need, but he hadn't meant a word of it. In fact, he had grown more upset, more nauseous, with each verse of Scripture he had read.

Something was happening to him. Something dark, something evil, was taking over his body. His mind. And now, standing in the men's restroom of the church he had led for a third of his life, he fought with all his might to stop the darkness from winning.

"The Lord is our shelter in the storm of stress," Gary recited aloud to his reflection. They were lines from the sermon he'd just given. "The Lord is our shelter in the storm of sorrow."

He said the words, but he didn't believe them.

"The Lord is my shelter." Spittle sprayed the mirror as he screamed desperately. "The Lord is my shelter!"

He was lying to himself. The Lord wasn't his shelter. Not now, not ever. He'd wasted seventeen whole years of his life serving some deity who didn't even exist, and now, he was done.

The preacher balled up his fists and pounded them into the mirror. "The Lord-" he punched the glass, "is-" he punched it again, "my shelter!"

One more fist into the mirror sent it crashing into a hundred pieces.

The reverend wept as he stared down at his bloodied hands. He felt every bit as broken as the mirror. Dirtier than the sweaty handkerchief in his pocket. Empty. Pathetic. Lost. Cold. Numb.

_Dead._

Gary Fulton gasped. His eyes zoomed in on a large sliver of glass resting above the sink drain. A wonderful new idea suddenly entered his mind.

_Do it, Preacher. Do it now._

He could clearly hear the voice from within leading him. He felt his lips curve upward as he reached into the sink.

_That's it. Take it._

Gary took the jagged piece of glass into his right hand.

_Go on now, Preacher. You know what to do. _

He lifted the makeshift blade. Grinning from one ear to the other, Reverend Gary Fulton slashed his wrists.


	67. 2x01, II: Got Any Quarters?

_Broken Spoke Motel,_

_Twenty miles outside of El Paso, Texas._

The owners of the Broken Spoke Motel wanted their guests to know that they were in the Wild West.

The walls, the floors, even the ceilings of the rooms were the color of desert sand. The bedspreads featured big, tacky images of cowboy boots printed across a background the color of desert sand. Also on each bed were two leather, desert-sand-colored throw pillows complete with fringed edges and cowboy boot designs on the front.

To add to the western feel, each room contained at least three plastic cactuses, a collection of metal wall art depicting lassos, horse stampedes, and cowboys riding off into the sunset, and a horseshoe hanging above each and every door. Even the toilet seats had the star of Texas etched into the lids.

It was sort of ridiculous.

Sam Winchester was sitting on one of those cowboy-boot-printed bedspreads in his room, his laptop resting across his thighs as he roamed from one website to another.

It had been a little over three months since Jake Talley had opened the door to Hell in Wyoming, and in those three months, Sam had put forth extra effort to keep a close eye on the national news. He had just clicked on what sounded like an interesting story about a dead garbage man in Cleveland when-

_KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!_

Sam could tell from the rhythm of taps on the door that his brother was the one knocking on the other side. Sam set his computer aside. He pushed himself up from the bed, strode toward the door, and opened it to reveal Dean, as suspected, who was wearing only jeans and a white tank undershirt.

"Dude," Dean breathed the second the door opened, "you got any quarters?"

"Uh…yeah. I think so."

Dean grinned big. "Awesome."

Sam sighed loudly as he dug around in his pockets, searching for change. Apparently, in addition to a load of western paraphernalia, the Broken Spoke Motel _also _had Magic Fingers. "How many you need?"

"As many as you got."

Sam stared.

"Come on, I'll pay you back."

Sam scrounged up three dollars in quarters and handed them over to his eager brother, whose face lit up as though he had been given a million dollars worth of the silver coins.

Dean's grin widened. "Thanks, man," he said, slapping Sam's bicep. "You have no idea what you've just done for my sex life."

Sam grimaced. "…Good." Although thanks to the motel's characteristically thin walls, Sam knew he would get an idea shortly.

"See ya." Dean's eyebrows playfully flicked up as he turned and hit it back to his room.

His and _Jennifer's _room.

Sam was still getting used to the idea of the two of them being married. He was more than happy for the couple, of course, and since their nuptials, they were happier than he'd ever seen them. Plus, Sam got his own room out of the deal, which was a nice change. But it was all still new to him. And still weird.

He closed the door and went back to his laptop. He grabbed the television remote as he sank onto the cheap mattress and flipped on the tube, hoping the sounds of _Law & Order _would drown out the noises that would surely be coming from next door any moment now.

Just as Sam returned to the article about the dead garbage man in Cleveland, his cell phone buzzed on the nightstand. Caller ID said Bobby Singer was on the line.

Sam picked it up fast. "Hello?"

"Hey, there, Sam," Bobby's gruff voice greeted him. "Whatcha up to?"

"Same old, same old. How've you been?"

"Fine and dandy. Your brother and the missus doing alright?"

Sam paused. A series of faint thumps, grunts, and giggles drifted through the desert-sand-colored wall. He rolled his eyes and said, "Sounds like it."

"Huh?"

"They're still in the honeymoon stage," Sam explained, grinning.

"I bet." He could almost hear the smile in Bobby's voice. "Well, that's good. Better enjoy it while they can."

"Yeah."

"So. You kids working a job?"

"Not at the moment."

"Well," Bobby sighed, "I think I mighta found you one. Bethsaida, Arkansas. I'd look into myself, but I'm busy tracking an Angiak up here in Michigan. And you remember what a pain those sons a' bitches can be."

Sam couldn't help but smile as memories of July 1996 flooded his mind. He'd been thirteen, Dean had been seventeen, and Dad had been seriously pissed off at Bobby when they had attempted to collaborate on a job. That job involved an Angiak- a very angry, very vengeful, very difficult to find Angiak. That particular hunt was one of the longest, most frustrating jobs any of them had ever worked, and when it was finally over, none of them were on speaking terms with each other. "Yeah, I remember," he said, stifling a chuckle. "So, what've you got in Arkansas?"

* * *

_The next morning._

Dean, Sam, and Jennifer occupied a booth in the back corner of Ron's Pancake Hut, a small, locally-owned restaurant situated across the street from the Broken Spoke Motel. The paint on the front window advertised their famous delicious strawberry pancakes. Jennifer had ordered a plateful of them and was pleased to find that they lived up to their reputation.

Mr. and Mrs. Winchester were in an awfully good mood this morning, Sam noticed, and for that, he was thankful. However, it made it more difficult for him to share the details of their new case.

"So, Arkansas, huh?" Dean asked his little brother as he wolfed down a particularly greasy sausage link. "What could possibly be going on there?"

"Plenty," Sam sighed. "This past Sunday, one of the local preachers had just finished giving his morning sermon when he left the pulpit, ran out of the sanctuary, and slit his wrists in the church bathroom. The congregation was still in the pews when he did it."

Jennifer's face paled. Her good mood was officially gone. Not even Ron's amazing strawberry pancakes could restore it.

Dean winced. "Musta been one bad sermon."

Both Sam and Jennifer frowned at him.

"I'm kidding."

Jennifer continued to glare at him.

"Anyway," Sam went on, "it turns out he's the _third _pastor in town to commit suicide in the past six weeks."

Dean's green eyes widened. "Seriously?" His mouth was full of scrambled egg, but he spoke anyway. "That's like one every friggin' week.

"Yeah…" Sam decided to look past Dean's mathematical error. "I think we definitely need to check it out."

"Sure, man," Dean concurred as he patted his lips with a napkin. "What should we be this time? Jehovah's Witnesses? Concerned citizens bearing tuna casseroles? Maybe, if you're feelin' kinky enough to bust out the habits, we could be junior priests again."

Sam sighed for a second time. "Priests don't wear habits. _Nuns _wear habits."

"There's an idea- _nuns_." Dean grinned at his brother. "You look like a Sister Mary Clarence to me, Sam. I'm pretty sure I saw a costume shop downtown..."

"I'm pretty sure I saw that too, Dean," Sam said in an aggravated tone, "and it was _adult _costumes."

Dean's grin stretched. "Even better. You could be Sister Mary Clarence, the _naughty _nun_._"

* * *

_Fulton Residence,_

_Bethsaida, Arkansas._

"We're grief counselors," Jennifer introduced the three of them to Carol Fulton, the blonde-haired widow of the late Reverend Gary Fulton, as they stood on her doorstep. "We're with Solid Rock Counseling, a private, non-profit bereavement ministry out of Little Rock."

"Oh," said Carol Fulton. "How nice."

Jennifer's face softened into an expression of honest sympathy. "We were contacted by a member of your church. We just want you to know, Mrs. Fulton, we're happy to do whatever we can to make this time of healing a little easier for you."

Mrs. Fulton managed a soft smile. "Thank you so much. That's very kind. Please, come inside."

Jennifer returned the smile and gently touched the woman's arm as she led the trio inside. "Thank you."

Dean grinned at his wife as they followed Mrs. Fulton into her home. Like Sam, Jennifer had a natural ability of setting people at ease, and unlike Dean, she was almost always immediately welcomed and trusted by total strangers. She seemed so earnest, no one ever suspected her. She was truly beneficial to the team, especially when the time came to enter the houses of grieving widows. Women seemed much more willing to talk to them when Jennifer was one of the listeners.

Mrs. Fulton led them into the living room of her home, a cozy place with modest, country-themed décor, and invited them to sit.

Sam settled onto the couch next to his brother and sister-in-law. "Mrs. Fulton, we're very sorry for your loss," he said. "Did your husband have a history of depression?"

"No," Mrs. Fulton shook her head. "Gary was always a very happy man. Full of life, full of joy." Her blue eyes glistened with tears. "He lived his life by Philippians 4."

The brothers stared blankly at her.

"'Rejoice in the Lord always'," Mrs. Fulton quoted. "Be content in all circumstances." A tear streamed down her cheek. "Gary _lived _that Scripture."

Jennifer felt her own tears rising. She'd always been a bit of a contagious crier, but this woman's story- the suicide of her good, upstanding, Christian husband, a dedicated church pastor- particularly moved her. "Sounds like he was a wonderful person," she said.

Mrs. Fulton nodded. "He was." Her eyes darkened. "The way he died…it just doesn't make sense."

"Mrs. Fulton," Dean said, "Did you notice anything strange before your husband's death?"

The question seemed to catch her off guard. Her eyes widened. "Str-" She cleared her throat. "Strange?"

Dean nodded. "Maybe with your house, the church, your husband himself…_anything_ at all."

"Well," Mrs. Fulton lowered her gaze and began wringing her hands nervously. "The week before he died, a lot of strange things happened."

The Winchesters exchanged glances.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked.

The woman drew in a deep breath. "When I say that Gary didn't have a history of depression, I mean that he didn't…until about a week before his death." She paused. "It started with nightmares."

Sam gulped. "Nightmares?"

"Yes. I, um, I don't know what he was dreaming about. He wouldn't talk about it. But those first few nights, he'd wake up screaming." She shivered. "He must have been seeing something awful. He eventually stopped going to bed. Drank pots of coffee just to stay awake."

They waited for her to continue.

Mrs. Fulton sighed. "I knew something was wrong, but he wouldn't let me help him. He became so…withdrawn. So…sad. And moody. He wouldn't talk to me or anybody. It was so unnatural for him, because he'd always been so open and loving." She shed another tear. "And it all happened overnight."

"Do you remember seeing any…black smoke?" Dean asked. "Or maybe you smelled something, like rotten eggs?"

It was obvious by her facial expression that Mrs. Fulton had not. Clearly, she found the question strange and completely unrelated to their discussion. "No. Nothing like that. Why do you ask?"

"Never mind," said Dean. "I'm sorry. Was there anything else out of the ordinary?"

She nodded slowly. "Yes. But I didn't notice it until after his death." She sniffled. "When they moved him, I-I saw Gary's body, and I noticed an odd mark on his arm." Mrs. Fulton pointed to the inside of her forearm to illustrate. "I hadn't seen it there before. It was a strange symbol, and it looked like it had been burned into his skin. Like a cattle brand."

"Do you remember what the symbol looked like?" Sam wanted to know.

"Not exactly," she answered, looking as though she found this question to be as strange and unrelated as the one about black smoke. "It was circular. A, uh, a weird symbol with a ring around it."

"Mrs. Fulton," Jennifer began quietly, "I'm sure you've heard about the other two preachers in town. Did you know any of them personally?"

"Not personally, no. But I've heard only wonderful things about them," she answered with a trembling jaw. "Their deaths make as much sense as Gary's, and the details are just…too similar." She swallowed hard. "If I may be frank with you, I believe something's going on here. Something is…attacking these men of faith."

Noting her use of "some_thing_" rather than "some_one_", Dean leaned forward in his seat. "What do you think it could be?"

"The Devil," Mrs. Fulton replied. Fresh, hot tears slipped from her eyes. "The Devil and his demons."

* * *

The three Winchesters strolled across the late reverend's front lawn toward the Impala, which was parked in the driveway behind Mrs. Fulton's station wagon.

"Well," Sam sighed, plopping into the front seat of the classic Chevy. He glanced at his brother. "What do you think?"

Dean loosened his striped necktie as he slid behind the steering wheel. "I don't think it's the _Devil_," he replied. He slipped the key into the ignition. "Demons woulda been my first guess, but there wasn't any black smoke or sulfur."

"That_ Mrs. Fulton_ witnessed," Jennifer pointed out from the backseat.

"Right." Dean turned the key, and the engine roared to life. "What's the deal with that mark she was talking about? A symbol branded into the guy's skin?"

Sam shrugged his shoulders. "Could be a binding link of some sort. I don't know. But I'm willing to bet the other three preachers had the same one."

"Reverend Fulton hasn't been buried yet," said Dean. He shifted into reverse and backed out of the Fultons' driveway. "I say we check out the morgue, see this symbol up close and personal."

Sam nodded his consent.

"I could talk to the other victims' families while you two do that," Jennifer volunteered.

Dean glanced at her reflection in the rear-view mirror. "Since when are you squeamish about a couple of stiffs?"

"It's not that, it's just...you know...we'd cover more ground faster if we split up," she replied. "And it's kind of unnecessary for the three of us to go to the morgue. There probably wouldn't be enough room in there for all of us anyway. Might look a little suspicious, too."

Sam and Dean looked at each other, both sensing there was more to her motive but neither desiring to elaborate on the subject.

"Okay," Dean said, trying to focus on the road. "Whatever works."


	68. 2x01, III: Split Up

_Galilee General Hospital Morgue,_

_Bethsaida, Arkansas._

An older, bald-headed, round-faced gentleman with a thin white moustache and a name badge that identified him as Albert Godfrey smiled at the two handsome FBI agents standing before him at the entrance to the morgue. "What'd you two say your names were?" he asked the men.

In his most professional voice, Dean answered, "Dean Fogerty and Sam Clifford."

Albert Godfrey's smile doubled in size. "Fogerty and Clifford, huh? You boys familiar with Creedence Clearwater Revival? They did 'Bad Moon Rising', 'Down on the Corner', 'Proud Mary', … ah, you probably never heard of 'em, they were back before your time." The man prattled on as he led them inside. "CCR was a popular rock 'n' roll band back in the late sixties, early seventies. They had a Fogerty and a Clifford, too." He kept smiling. "Well, actually _two _Fogertys. There was a couple of brothers. John and uh…what's the other's name? Bill? No, that's not it. Not it at all. Gosh darn it, he played rhythm guitar…"

"Tom?" Dean suggested.

Albert Godfrey snapped his fingers. "Yes! Tom Fogerty! So you _are _familiar with CCR."

"Yes, sir," Dean said with an enthusiastic grin.

Sam mentally groaned. Between Dean and this guy…they could be here all afternoon.

"Oh, back in the sixties, CCR was about all I listened to," Albert Godfrey said. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the wall. "I had an old Martin six-string I used to piddle around with. Did my own rendition of 'Green River' that woulda blown you away."

Dean grinned big. "Oh yeah?"

"Dang skippy!" Albert chuckled heartily. Then he sighed. "That was back in the good ole days before arthritis. Can't play a lick now." He shoved his hands into his pockets, then yanked them out suddenly. "Good night, just listen at me rattlin' on when you boys have important work to do. You came to see a carcass, not listen to an old guy jabber on about his glory days!" He shuffled toward the refrigerators. "Right this way, boys."

* * *

_Barclay Residence._

Joseph Lundberg had been a Methodist minister. He'd had a wife, two college-aged sons, a growing congregation, and a town full of people who looked up to him. He hung himself only two weeks before Reverend Gary Fulton slit his wrists.

After a lengthy argument, Dean had given Jennifer the keys to the Impala (It was part of his marital obligation, she'd insisted.). She dropped the brothers off at the hospital and sped off to the home of Pastor Joseph Lundberg.

Her interview with Pastor Lundberg's wife had uncovered several disturbing similarities between his suicide and Reverend Fulton's. Both of the preachers' downward spirals had begun with nightmares. Self-isolation and mood swings had followed. Pastor Lundberg also had a weird symbol branded into his arm.

When Jennifer's time with Lundberg's wife was over and neither Winchester had called to let her know they were done at the morgue, she headed to Pastor Marvin Barclay's house.

Marvin Barclay had been a Presbyterian minister. He'd had a wife, three grown children, and seven grandchildren. He'd been a highly respected citizen of Bethsaida, Arkansas, for half a century, and his death by a self-inflicted gunshot had been the first of the three pastor suicides.

Pastor Barclay and his wife, Loretta, owned a newly renovated split-level with a pool and sundeck. Presently, Jennifer sat in a wooden armchair on that sundeck next to Loretta as she connected the rest of the dots.

Like the other two ministers, Pastor Barclay had nightmares. His demeanor had changed drastically in a couple of days. He had the strange mark on his arm. But unlike the others, he had been more open with his wife.

"That first night, when the nightmares started," Loretta Barclay told Jennifer, "Marvin told me he'd been struggling with his faith. He said that, after his bad dream, he was scared he would lose it altogether."

"Did he tell you what his nightmare was about?" Jennifer asked.

"A woman. He said a woman came to him and told him to turn away from the Lord. To leave the church. To give up on religion, because none of it was real. None of it mattered anymore."

Jennifer's heart skipped in her chest as she listened. She was finally getting somewhere. "Did he say anything else? About the woman? Maybe what she looked like?"

"He just said she was very beautiful." Loretta gulped. "That first night, Marvin said he _knew_ she was a demon."

* * *

_Galilee General Hospital Morgue._

Albert Godfrey unlocked one of the refrigerator units and rolled out the sheet-covered tray. "Well," he sighed, pulling back the shroud. "Here's your guy."

Sam and Dean stared down at the lifeless body of Reverend Gary Fulton. By now, the brothers were used to creepy. After everything they had witnessed over the years, very little truly got to them. However, the eerie smile on the suicidal preacher's greenish face was downright chilling.

Shaking his head sadly, Albert Godfrey said, "I just don't see how a man like him does something like this."

Dean caught Albert's gaze and gestured toward the corpse. "Do you mind if we-"

"No," Albert replied. "No, not at all." He hurried away. "You do what you gotta do. I'll leave you to it." With that, he was gone. For now.

"Nice guy," Dean said about Albert, smiling to himself as he rolled the sheet down to the dead man's waist. "Sure knows his music."

Ignoring his brother, Sam leaned in for a closer look at Reverend Fulton's arms. On the inside of the man's right one, halfway between his wrist and elbow, was the symbol Carol Fulton had told them about. It did, in fact, resemble a cattle brand. The affected skin was raised, swollen, and red-purple in color, and it formed a circle, about an inch in diameter, filled with overlapping lines, triangles, and more circles.

"Looks painful," Dean commented, running a gloved finger over the mark. "Do you recognize the symbol?"

"No," Sam replied. "I don't think I've ever seen it."

"Me neither."

Making sure Albert Godfrey wasn't watching, Sam reached into his jacket and pulled out his cell phone. "Maybe Bobby knows it." He flipped it open, went into camera mode, and snapped a couple of pictures of the symbol to send to the more experienced hunter.

* * *

_Barclay Residence._

"What made your husband so sure the woman in his dream was a demon?" Jennifer asked Loretta Barclay, hoping she didn't sound as eager as she was.

Loretta's cheeks reddened a bit. "I know how it all sounds. But Marvin said he'd never sensed evil like that before. The things the woman said to him…the way she mocked him and his faith… He just _knew_." She glanced down. "The first night, anyway. After that, he didn't talk about his nightmares. He kept having them, he kept screaming in the night, but he never said anything else to me about them. I think the woman started getting to him."

"Mrs. Barclay," Jennifer said, "do _you _believe she was a demon?"

The woman shifted in her seat. "The Bible is filled with people having visions and dreams sent from God. Dreams in which they were visited by angels." A pause. "I do think it's possible that Marvin's nightmares came from somewhere, or someone, else."

Though silence filled the sundeck, the pastor's wife didn't seem to be finished. Jennifer waited impatiently for more.

"The Bible also talks about how demons lie," Loretta went on. "They're out to deceive people, especially people like Marvin who are doing the Lord's work."

Jennifer nodded.

"I do believe she was a demon," Loretta Barclay confessed, teary-eyed. "And I believe she convinced my husband and those other two ministers to take their own lives."

* * *

_Galilee General Hospital._

Today marked a milestone. Today, Dean had allowed Jennifer to drive his beloved classic automobile for the first time. It was the first time she'd felt the accelerator beneath her foot. The steering wheel within her grasp. The radio under her control. She'd honestly loved every second of the drive, and she found it easy to see why Dean treasured the car so much.

She should have been savoring her last moments in the driver's seat, but as she sat parked outside the hospital, waiting on the brothers to exit the morgue, she was too antsy to enjoy it. She couldn't wait to tell them what she'd found. She couldn't wait to hear what they'd found.

At last the double doors of the side entrance swung open, and the suit-clad Winchesters stepped outside into the golden afternoon sunlight. She frowned as Dean came to the driver's side and tapped the window, beckoning her to scoot away from the wheel. She did as she was told.

"You didn't dent her, did you?" Dean asked only halfway jokingly as he and Sam climbed inside.

Jennifer didn't acknowledge his obnoxious question. "What took you so long? I had time to talk to both of the preachers' wives and _then _some."

Sam huffed from the backseat. "We got held up talking to Grandpa."

"Come on, Sam," Dean chided. "The poor guy just needed somebody to talk to."

"Ha, yeah. Or _you _did."

"What?"

"Dean, once you got on Zeppelin, there was no stopping you."

Dean frowned at him. He turned to his wife. "Did you get anything outta the preachers' wives?"

She hastily recounted her interviews with each of the women- the preachers' vivid nightmares, their changes in behavior, and Pastor Barclay's dreams of a beautiful woman who may have convinced him to commit suicide.

"So some hot chick's going all Freddy Krueger on these preachers, forcing them to gank themselves?" Dean commented. "Sounds demony enough for me."

"What about the symbol?" Jennifer asked.

Sam dug out his cell phone and brought up the photo he'd taken inside the morgue. He passed it to Jennifer. "We've never seen it before."

She studied the picture carefully. "I haven't either." She handed Sam's phone back to him. "What do we do now?"

"Well," Sam sighed. "I sent that picture to Bobby. Hopefully, he'll be able to tell us something about it. In the meantime, I guess we'll have to do some research of our own."

Dean groaned. "Awesome."


	69. 2x01, IV: A Sign

_Madison County Public Library,_

_Richardson, Arkansas._

The nearest library was a little over fifteen miles away from Bethsaida in the city of Richardson. The boxy Neoclassical style building was three stories high, complete with a computer lab and half a dozen private study rooms. For the past three hours, the Winchesters had occupied one of those study rooms. Dean and Jennifer flipped through dusty old book after dusty old book on demonology, dark magic, and occult lore. Using his laptop to connect to the library's free Wi-Fi, Sam searched through heavier ancient texts that were only available online. So far, they'd come up empty.

Jennifer closed the last book in her stack with frustration. In an attempt to soothe her growing headache, she rubbed her temples. "What time is it?"

Thankful for a break from the pages, Dean glanced at his watch. "Ten 'til seven."

She sighed. "The library closes at eight." Looking at Sam, she asked, "Have you still not heard from Bobby?"

Sam checked his phone to make sure he hadn't missed anything. Unfortunately, he hadn't. "Nope. He's probably still working on that Angiak thing in Michigan."

"Angiak?" Dean repeated, making a face. "That brings back happy memories."

Sam half-smiled. "Doesn't it?"

Jennifer gathered her pile of books and rose from her chair. "I guess I'll go put these back and see what else I can find."

She left the brothers in the study room and headed to the paranormal section located in the back corner of the second floor. Making sure she kept everything in alphabetical order, Jennifer neatly returned the unhelpful books to their proper places and began searching for more. _Demonology in the Early Christian World _caught her eye. Then she noticed the faded leather book's two-inch-wide spine and cringed.

As she pulled the dreadfully long book from the shelf, she heard Dean approaching from behind. She glanced over her shoulder at him and tried to smile. Noticing the stack of books in his hands, she asked, "Did you give up too?"

"Yeah." He lazily set the pile of books on a convenient shelf. "My eyes are swimming."

Jennifer OCD-edly grabbed the pile and put them where they belonged, starting with _The Dark Arts: A Brief History of Witchcraft, Demonology, and Astrology_.

"So," Dean said. He leaned against the bookcase. "What's up with you?"

His tone forced her eyes to meet his. "What?"

"Something's obviously going on with you." He swallowed. "Are you okay?"

She stuck _The Dark Arts _between two random titles and didn't care to fix it. "Yeah, Dean, I'm fine." She turned her body toward his. "Why would you think I'm not?"

"I don't know." He shrugged. "You've just seemed a little off lately."

"Off?"

"Yeah, I guess. I don't know, you're-you're tense. Kinda moody. Maybe it's just some female, time-of-the-month thing…"

"Dean, these past few months, we've all been tense and moody. Ever since that gate opened in Wyoming, we've been jumpy. And edgy." She paused. "This case, it feels like it's connected to what happened in the cemetery. It's the first one we've come across that has felt that way, and I think it's gotten us all stirred up."

"You're sure that's it? 'Cause this morning, when you wanted split up instead of go to the morgue with me and Sam-"

"_Dean_, I was only trying to get things done faster."

"I think you were jonesing for some alone time with my car."

She rolled her eyes.

He grinned.

"Honestly," Jennifer said, her voice much softer now. "Something about this job really bothers me." She stared into his eyes. "Three suicides, one after another, the fact that they were all preachers…" She shivered and took _The Dark Arts: A Brief History of Witchcraft, Demonology, and Astrology _from its wrong spot. She found its appropriate home and returned it there. "I mean, these are people who are trying to make a difference in the world. People who care about doing what's right..." Her eyes fell to the carpet as she trailed off.

Dean touched her arm gently.

She seemed to draw a bit of strength from the contact. "We've gotta move as fast as we can. Because if we don't…I'm afraid some other pastor will be next."

He nodded.

After surveying the area to make sure they were alone, Jennifer raised herself onto her tiptoes and gave her husband a peck on the lips. "Now." She grabbed a small volume with a ragged cover from the bookcase. The corners were frayed, the pages were stained, and the title, _Symbols of the Occult_, was barely legible. She handed it to her husband with a sly smile. "Back to the research."

_Lundy's Diner,_

_Richardson, Arkansas._

Another frustrating hour of unsuccessful research passed before a silver-haired librarian politely asked the Winchesters to leave. The trio had been too busy scrutinizing occult symbols to notice it was five minutes past closing time.

Drained of energy and suddenly aware of how hungry they were, they decided to stop for a late dinner before heading back to their motel in Bethsaida.

They were scarfing down burgers and fries, trying to figure out what to do next, when Sam's cell phone rang.

It was Bobby.

Sam answered it before the second ring. "Hello?"

"Hey, Sam. I found your symbol."

Sam felt his stomach clench. Bobby sounded less enthused than usual. Outright gloomy, actually. That couldn't be good. "Uh…great. Thanks for checking it out. What does it mean?"

He heard the man sigh wearily. "Well, for starters, it means your job's done in Bethsaida."

That couldn't be good either. "How so?"

"Not really somethin' I wanna discuss on the phone. Listen, I'm done in Michigan. I'm in Iowa, headed south on I-35, coming up on the Woolstock exit."

Raising an eyebrow, Sam said, "You're taking the Interstate? That's never a good sign."

"No, kid, it sure ain't," Bobby told him. "You better stay put, all of you, and watch your backs. I'm headed your way."

_Twin Pines Court,_

_Bethsaida, Arkansas._

Seven hours later, Dean hurried to answer a knock at the door. He was relieved to find Bobby Singer on the opposite side of the threshold, though the grim look on the man's face worried him. As he stepped inside the dimly lit motel room where the three Winchesters had gathered, Bobby's expression never softened.

"Well, Bobby," Dean broke the ice as soon as he locked the door. "Go ahead. Give it to us."

Bobby sank into an empty armchair by the window. He slapped a thick folder onto the table. Glancing up at Dean, he said, "You'll wanna sit down for this."

Everyone else was already seated. Sam occupied the other armchair. Jennifer sat at the foot of the bed. Dean crossed the floor and joined Jennifer. "Okay," he said the second his backside hit the mattress. "I'm sitting."

Bobby drew in a deep breath. "That pastor was right. It _was _a demon who did this. A very powerful demon who, I'd imagine, climbed outta Hell the night the gate was open. It used some kinda spell to get into those preachers' dreams, and once it got inside, it started lying to them. It tried to change their behavior, make them abandon their faith." His paused for emphasis. "Make them kill themselves."

The room grew quiet for a moment.

"Once the preachers took themselves out," Bobby finally went on, "their souls were branded, literally, with that symbol you sent me a picture of."

"What exactly does it mean?" Sam asked hesitantly.

Bobby released a heavy sigh. "The demon that did this…it had big plans."

Again, Sam was reluctant when he asked, "How big?"

When Bobby didn't reply, the Winchesters swapped troubled glances.

"Bobby?" Dean urged.

"The deaths of these preachers figure into an ancient prophecy," he said at last.

Dean's eyebrows jumped up. "A _prophecy_? From where?"

"Long story short…" Bobby shifted in his seat. "The Bible."

"Come again?"

For the first time since he'd arrived, Bobby reached for his folder. He pulled open the cover and began reading from the first page: "'In later times, some will abandon the faith, giving heed to deceiving spirits and doctrines of demons, speaking lies and hypocrisy, and having their souls seared by a hot iron.'" He lifted his eyes to Dean's. "First Timothy, chapter four."

Jennifer gulped. She recognized the Scripture. She'd heard it preached in sermons about the end of days. Though she didn't want to believe it, the growing knot in her throat told her what was coming next.

"Of course," Bobby said, "that's only the condensed version for tourists. It's been whittled down over the centuries." He flipped through the contents of his folder. "But if you go back far enough, you'll find that the writer of first Timothy was referring to what's known as The Three Mouthpieces of God, three servants of the Lord who will turn against their faith and kill themselves, all because a demon made 'em do it."

He turned his folder around so the Winchesters could see it for themselves. A photocopied page of an ancient manuscript featured a faded illustration of the symbol they'd seen burned into Reverend Gary Fulton's forearm.

"That right there, that symbol, that's the mark of the Mouthpieces," Bobby told them, pointing to the design. "It appears when a Mouthpiece of God has been 'cut off'; the exact moment when those preachers gave in to the demon and killed themselves."

"So, these 'Three Mouthpieces of God' that were prophesied about way back when," Dean said. "They turned out to be three little Podunk preachers from _Arkansas? _Why the hell would _they _be _them_?"

Bobby shrugged his shoulders. "Do I look like I know?" He sighed again. "Anyway, there's more to this. A lot more." He wet his lips. "This is…a sign."

In unison, Sam and Dean asked, "A sign of what?"

They glanced at each other awkwardly.

Bobby gulped. "The Apocalypse."

* * *

"The Apocalypse?" Dean wasn't sitting down anymore. He was pacing back and forth, wearing more holes in the hideous blue shag carpet. "The Four Horsemen, fire from the sky, Kirk Cameron Apocalypse?"

Bobby sighed one more time. "That's the one."

Dean ran a hand over his face. "Awesome. Then we really are screwed."

"The Cutting Off of the Three Mouthpieces is like a mile marker," Bobby told them.

"Yeah, for a road trip we don't wanna be on."

Bobby shook his head and looked at Jennifer and Dean. "The night you two got married, right after the gate opened, Sam and I were wondering why the demons hadn't struck yet."

Sam gulped as he remembered the conversation they'd had. The gate to Hell had opened, hundreds of demons had been set free, they'd been spotted over seventeen cities, but nothing had happened. Nothing at all for three whole months.

"We thought they were waiting on something," Bobby said. "Looks like this is it."

No one spoke again for a while. Sam, Bobby, and Jennifer sat in contemplative silence. Dean stopped pacing and started gnawing on his bottom lip. Everyone froze and let things sink into their minds.

"So," Sam ended the silence. Slowly, he lifted his eyes to Bobby's. "What do we do now?"

Bobby sucked in some air and blew it back out. "Good question."


	70. 2x01, V: The Stranger

_Twin Pines Court,_

_Bethsaida, Arkansas_.

It was nearly four-thirty in the morning when Bobby left the Winchesters' room to get his own. On his way out the door, he'd encouraged the three of them to get some sleep. But right now, that seemed impossible. They'd just learned of the forthcoming Apocalypse, and they refused to accept the fact that there was nothing they could do about it. They stayed up, racking their brains for some idea of a next move.

"The demon that did this," Sam said, "it's out there somewhere. If we could find some way to track it-"

"_There is _no way to track it, Sam," Dean cut in. "It's just one of two hundred or more new demons we've gotta worry about. Remember?"

Sam heaved a sigh.

"Not to mention," Dean went on, "Yellow Eyes, who disappeared after trying to pull you over to the dark side."

"He said he was going back to Hell."

"Since when does the yellow-eyed demon tuck his tail between his legs and run away? You know he's in the middle of this thing, too. Hell, he seems to be the one runnin' the show. He got Jake to open the gate in the first place, didn't he?"

Sam nodded.

"See what I mean?" Dean ran a hand over his face. He turned to Jennifer, who was sitting quietly with Bobby's folder in her lap. "Feel free to jump in any time."

She glanced up at him. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I don't really know what to say."

"No ideas? At all?"

She swallowed. "If this _is _the Apocalypse, and I'd say it is, I don't think there's anything we can do to stop it."

Dean frowned. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Well, I'm sorry, but that's all I've got. This one passage from the book of Mark keeps coming up in my mind. Even Bobby's got it written down in here." Jennifer pointed, wide-eyed, to a page of his folder. "'Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be earthquakes in various places, and famines. This is only the beginning.' Mark 13. 'Such things _must _happen.'"

No one said anything for several seconds.

Dean gulped and dramatically stated, "Not if we have anything to do with it."

It was a nice thought, but neither Jennifer nor Sam were too encouraged by it. Sam slapped his thighs and stood to his feet. "I'm going to bed," he told the couple as he moved to the door. "Maybe things will look brighter in the morning. Try to get some rest, guys."

"Yeah," Dean said. "You too."

Jennifer managed a smile. "Goodnight, Sam."

"Goodnight." He pulled open the door and stepped into the chilly night air.

As Sam strolled to his room, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans, he couldn't help but feel a sense of hopelessness. He wanted to have the same give-'em-hell attitude as his brother, but right now, he shared the same gloomy view as Bobby and Jennifer.

But he'd meant what he'd said on the way out of Dean and Jennifer's room. Maybe, hopefully, things would seem better in the morning after a few hours of sleep. He clung to that wish as he removed his motel key from a jacket pocket.

Just as he reached his door, an odd prickling sensation on the back of his neck made him feel he was being watched, though at this hour, there was no one to be seen. The rest of the sidewalk was empty and the parking lot seemed deserted.

Then he detected movement in his peripheral vision. He stopped and turned his head toward the parked cars. Squinting in the darkness, Sam recognized the familiar outlines of the Impala and Bobby's Chevelle. There were a couple of other vehicles scattered across the small area, but that was it. He saw nothing else. Apparently, he'd imagined the movement.

Feeling a bit paranoid, Sam faced his door and inserted the key into the knob. The feeling returned as a shiver ran up his spine. He spun around toward the parking lot again, and this time, he saw a person.

A tall young man stood in the shadows, about forty feet away, dressed in jeans and a dark jacket. He was staring directly at Sam.

It was too dark to tell much of anything about the stranger's features, but from what Sam could make out, he'd never seen the guy before. He immediately felt uneasy about him. Sam swallowed hard, thinking of the pistol tucked in his waistband.

Neither of the men moved. They just stared at each other.

The sidewalk suddenly grew darker. Sam's eyes darted around nervously, desperate to figure out what had happened. But it was nothing, he soon realized. The darkness had grown darker when the light in Dean and Jennifer's room had been turned out.

Quickly, Sam returned his gaze to the mystery man. But the man was gone. The parking lot was now completely empty.


	71. 2x02, I: The Kids Aren't All Right

**A/N:** Thank you all very much for the wonderful, encouraging reviews! I so dearly love hearing from you! With each review I receive, the more motivated I am to keep writing. :) As you've obviously noticed, things are getting darker and crazier in _The Good Fight- _what with the Apocalypse and all. I really hope you guys will stick around to read my take on it _and _that you'll continue to leave feedback along the way. Thanks again, for reading! Seventy whole chapters and counting...wow. I'm (quite happily) surprised you're still here!**  
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* * *

**"Hey, Teacher, Leave Those Kids Alone"**

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* * *

**

_Cranston Academy,_

_Neville, New Hampshire._

_One Week Later._

Ms. Myra Bell fit the classic English teacher stereotype.

Every single day of the one hundred and eighty days of the academic year, Myra Bell pulled her graying brown hair into a painfully tight bun and pushed her round, silver-rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose. The unmarried schoolteacher was rarely spotted without her chipped, java-filled coffee mug, which bore the phrase: _Life is short. Read fast! _And of course, Myra Bell was _never _seen without her handy-dandy red ink pen tucked behind her right ear.

Very late in the afternoon on the sixty-eighth day of the academic year, Ms. Bell sat at her cluttered desk, grading a two-inch-high stack of tenth grade essays on _Beowulf. _She picked up her favorite mug and downed her last sip of coffee for the day. As she savored the flavor of the caffeinated beverage, she glanced at her apple-shaped wall clock and found that it was _way _past time to put down the red pen and go home.

Her heart skipped a beat. She'd accidentally stayed so late, she was afraid she might be locked inside the school. All the other teachers had surely gone home by now. Quickly, she set down her empty coffee mug, scooted her chair away from the desk, stuffed the papers she hadn't graded into her tote bag, and stood to her feet. Swinging the bag over her shoulder, Ms. Bell grabbed her keys and hurried to the door. She shut off the light. Locked her office behind her and stepped into the hallway.

She was so busy fumbling with her keys, she didn't notice Mr. Amos Warwick standing outside her door until she ran smack into him.

"Oh! Oh, dear, I'm so sorry, Amos," Ms. Bell apologized, turning the palest shade of pink. "I didn't see you there."

Amos Warwick, the upper-level science teacher, stood rigidly before her, dressed in a black turtleneck, a black wool blazer, black pleated slacks, and shiny, expensive-looking black loafers. He clutched his black briefcase so tightly his already-pale knuckles were turning freakishly white.

"Perhaps, Ms. Bell," Mr. Warwick said, staring coldly at her down his long, crooked nose, "it would be wise to pay more attention to your surroundings." His soft voice was even icier than his glare. "Especially since you and I seem to be the only faculty in the building at this hour."

Ms. Bell gulped. "Yes. Yes, that's good advice."

"It certainly is." Mr. Warwick shot her one last piercing look before he turned on his heel and strode off down the hallway, his shaggy, jaw-length black hair swishing as he went.

Myra Bell shivered as she watched him disappear around the corner. She'd been teaching English at Cranston Academy for twelve years. Amos Warwick had been there for the last ten of them. In all that time, he was the only faculty member of the prestigious prep school she had not befriended.

Then again, no one had befriended Amos Warwick. He was too closed off for friendship. If anyone showed him even a hint of kindness, he repaid it with bitter sarcasm. Of course, the strong creepy vibe he emitted didn't help him in the relationship department, either.

Just as Ms. Bell scurried toward the exit, suddenly anxious to leave behind the empty halls of Cranston, it occurred to her that she had forgotten to turn off her desktop computer. Silently chiding herself for being so absent-minded, she spun around and unlocked her office. She set down her things and wiggled the computer mouse, waking the monitor from its screen-saving nap.

A door somewhere slammed shut. Ms. Bell jumped. As the thick sound echoed down the hallway, she began to shut down her computer.

She heard movement in the hall. Rustling clothing. Soft footsteps.

"Amos?" Ms. Bell called out.

No answer.

She hastily turned off the computer monitor. Behind her, her office door squeaked on its hinges. Swallowing hard, she turned around, halfway expecting to find Mr. Amos Warwick standing in her doorway with a bloody machete. She could easily imagine it- her bumping into him had been the final straw; he'd snapped at last and decided to take out his hatred for the world on her.

But it wasn't Amos Warwick she saw lingering over the threshold. It was Maggie Thomas, a ninth-grader, one of her brightest students.

She relaxed. "Oh, Maggie." Ms. Bell smiled and released the breath she'd been unconsciously holding. "You startled me. Come in."

The young blonde-haired teen stepped inside. Though Maggie looked nothing like Mr. Warwick, the lifeless- and out of character- expression on her pretty face reminded Ms. Bell of him. It immediately made her uncomfortable.

"Is everything alright, dear?" Ms. Bell asked.

Maggie nodded stiffly, maintaining perfect posture.

"I'm glad you caught me before I headed home," said Ms. Bell. "I meant to tell you earlier, I got your packet for the young writer's seminar in the mail today." She began digging through her mountain of papers. "The people at Dartmouth were very pleased with your grades and test scores, and they absolutely loved your piece on-"

"I don't want to go to the seminar, Ms. Bell," Maggie interrupted in an unusually flat voice.

Ms. Bell appeared stunned. "What? You were so excited about this."

"But I'm not, Ms. Bell."

"Oh, but Maggie, this is such a wonderful opportunity. You'll be able to-"

"I said I don't want to go to the seminar, Ms. Bell." Moving almost robotically, Maggie took a step toward her. "I won't go."

Ms. Bell felt intimidated and moved backwards. "Well, I certainly can't force you to go, but-"

"You're exactly right, Ms. Bell. You _can't _force me to go."

Feeling uneasy, Ms. Bell moved back farther. She stared into Maggie's blue eyes and discovered an unsettling emptiness. Something was very wrong with the girl.

"Maggie," Ms. Bell began, her voice quivering, "are you sure you're alright?"

The ninth-grader gave her an eerie smile. "Of course, Ms. Bell." She closed the office door. Locked it. "Of course I am."

* * *

Mr. Amos Warwick was halfway to the parking lot when he heard a shrill scream coming from within the school. He sighed. Knowing he was most likely the only person who'd heard the scream and was therefore obligated to respond, he had enough of a heart to make a hasty U-turn.

He followed the cobblestone sidewalk back to the side entrance of the main hall where the faculty offices were located. He pushed through the heavy double doors and turned left. Down the long hallway he went, searching for the origin of the scream.

At first, everything appeared to be in order. Then he noticed Ms. Bell's open office door. The light was on, too. Now that he thought about it, that scream had sounded an awful lot like her.

Mr. Warwick approached her office without trepidation. The clumsy woman had probably only screamed because she'd dropped and broken her precious coffee mug, he thought to himself. But, just to be certain she was alright, he continued to her office.

When he reached her door and peeked inside, his black briefcase slipped from his hands. His mouth fell open in horror.

The green carpet was splattered with red. On the floor in front of her desk, Myra Bell lay on her back, motionless, covered in her own blood. Beside her body was her coffee cup, now broken and bloody, bearing the same message it always had: _Life is short. Read fast!_


	72. 2x02, II: The Most Illegal Thing Yet

_Golden Springs Motel,_

_Golden Springs, Oklahoma._

_Three Days Later._

Dean sat on the cigarette-burned, alcohol-stained maroon comforter that covered the king-sized bed, perusing the last page of the latest edition of a popular national newspaper. He heaved a frustrated sigh as he rolled up the unhelpful publication and slapped it down on the bed beside him.

"_Nothing_," Dean concluded, rubbing his forehead. He glanced up at his wife, who stood in front of the wall mirror trying to do something with her unruly brown mane. "Unless you count the fact that Brad Pitt's facial hair made the front page. That seems like another sign of the Apocalypse to me."

Jennifer caught his glance in the mirror and frowned at him as she scrunched her hair with mousse.

"I don't really know what we're expecting to find," Dean told her. "It's not like the headlines are gonna say: '_Rider on a black horse engulfs entire town in fire.'_"

"The _black _horse is Famine," Jennifer informed him. She grabbed an elastic band and scooped her uncooperative hair into a messy bun. "And some time in the future, yeah, the headlines might say something like that."

"That's encouraging, thanks."

She shrugged and dabbed on a bit of lip gloss.

Dean watched her with a wrinkled brow. "You gonna be ready some time today?"

She jammed the cap back onto her gloss container, threw it inside her makeup bag, and faced him. "I'm ready. Just let me get my jacket."

He continued to sit as she pulled her gray military-style jacket from the closet and tugged it on. "You know," he said, "I don't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing that nothing else major has happened since the Three Mouthpieces."

"Yeah," Jennifer agreed, throwing her purse over her shoulder. "I don't know either." She patted his thigh. "Come on. Sam's probably waiting for us."

Dean got to his feet and flipped off the light switch as he followed her out of their motel room and into the icy November weather. It was early morning, and the temperature was at its lowest. Despite his plentiful layers of shirts, he shivered a little.

Sam was not waiting for them. Dean strolled over to his room and knocked. "Let's go, Sammy," he called through the door.

Jennifer had already reached the frost-covered Impala. She pulled the door handle and sighed when it didn't budge. "Hurry up, Dean, it's freezing out here."

He yanked out his keys and came to the driver's side.

Just then, the door to Sam's room creaked open and released the younger Winchester. He came bumbling out, his faded leather laptop bag strapped over his shoulder and his brand new BlackBerry (his old Motorola had bitten the big one a couple of days ago) pinned to his ear.

"Yeah, okay, thanks a bunch," Sam was saying into the smartphone as he joined Jennifer at the car side. "You have a nice day, too, ma'am." He ended the call and placed the device in his belt clip. He gave Jennifer a friendly smile. "Good morning."

"Morning," she replied, smiling back. She pulled open the right rear door when Dean finally unlocked it.

"Oh, uh, you can sit up front, Jennifer, if you want," Sam offered.

"Okay. Thanks."

Sam climbed into the backseat as she took shotgun.

"You sure are in a good mood this morning," Dean remarked, revving up the engine. He grinned slyly. "Did you call that waitress last night after she left her number on your check? Was that her you were talking to on the phone just now?"

Sam seemed offended. "_No_."

"What? She was kinda hot. And totally into you." He chuckled as he guided the Impala out of the motel parking lot. He took a left and headed downtown to find a decent restaurant that was serving breakfast. "What was her name? Trixie?"

Sam exhaled loudly. "I don't remember."

"It was Trixie. She wrote it down beside her number, and she dotted the 'I's with little hearts."

"I'm glad you remember, Dean," Jennifer commented.

"Sam remembers, too. He's just pretending not to."

"Right." Sam rolled his eyes. "Anyway, the person I was really talking to on the phone was a lady with the records department in Neville, New Hampshire."

"Oh. How'd you meet _her_?" Dean asked. "Did you finally view your matches for free on Match dot com?"

Sam chose to ignore his brother on that one. "I found us a case."

"Really?" Jennifer glanced over her shoulder at him. "You found a lead?"

"Well, not a lead on the, uh, the _Apocalypse_, but it does sound like our kinda thing. Three days ago, Myra Bell, an English teacher at a small, prestigious prep school in New Hampshire was found dead in her campus office," Sam said. "The man that found her was also a teacher, Amos Warwick. He said he was certain the two of them were the only people in the school when she died."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You're sure this Warwick guy didn't gank her?"

"That was everyone's first thought, of course, including the cops. But the school has high-tech security cameras posted in the hallways. The footage clearly shows Warwick leaving the building and a student entering her office and closing the door. If you keep watching, you hear a scream, the door opens by itself, Warwick comes back down the hallway from the parking lot, finds the body, and runs to call the cops."

"What about the student?" Jennifer asked.

"Maggie Thomas, one of Ms. Bell's ninth graders," Sam answered. "The footage didn't show her leaving the office, and Ms. Bell was the only person in there when Warwick found her. No sign of Maggie at all. And no one's seen her since. Not even her parents."

"So, this kid walks into her teacher's office, but doesn't walk out," Dean summed up. "That's kinda weird, right? What'd she do, make a bad grade, waste her teacher for it, then slip on her Invisibility Cloak and head for the hills?"

"There's more than that," Sam went on. "Like I said, I talked to some people at the records department. Turns out, this isn't the first strange death connected to Cranston Academy. Over the past month, a bus driver, two of the students' fathers, and a babysitter have all died in freak accidents."

"Wow," Jennifer gasped. "What do you think could be doing this?"

"I don't know. A number of things."

"Well, one thing's for sure," Dean said. "Something's going on at that school."

Sam nodded in agreement. "And we need to get inside."

"How do you suggest we manage that?" Jennifer asked.

Smiling, Sam replied, "I've got an idea."

* * *

_Later that day._

Jennifer's blue eyes were nearly as big as golf balls as she glanced over Sam's "idea", which consisted of a pile of new fake IDs, lie-filled resumes, and Photoshopped college degrees spread out over the table in Sam's room around which the three of them sat.

"This is your idea?" she asked him.

"It'll get us inside the school," said Sam.

"But…" She stared down at her fake resume. "This says I have a master's degree from Columbia University."

"So?" Dean shrugged his shoulders. "Mine says I went to Julliard."

"Holy crap," she said, reading on. "I'm a member of Kappa Alpha Theta? And I taught English for three years at Ashgrove Academy in Chicago?" Jennifer dropped the resume on the table top and stared at Sam. "This is ridiculous!"

"Yeah, I know it's a little-" Sam started.

Dean didn't let him finish. "Look, we gotta give 'em somethin' good if we wanna get in a high-falutin' place like Cranston. That paper full of crap makes you a perfect candidate for Ms. Bell's old job."

"Dean," she exclaimed, "this is the most illegal thing we've done."

He cocked his head to the left and arched his eyebrows. "Mm…I don't know about that, babe. Remember that night in Phoenix?"

Flushing a deep shade of crimson, she slapped his arm. "Dean!"

He couldn't help but grin as her blush traveled down her neck to her chest. "_That _was probably the most illegal thing _we've _ever done," he smirked. "Illegal in Texas and your home state, for sure."

"_Dean!" _She hit him again, appalled by his candidness. "Oh, my gosh!"

"Okay, guys." Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I don't know what happened with you two in Phoenix, and I don't think I want to."

"No," Jennifer said quickly. "You don't."

"Anyway," said Dean to his wife, stifling an even wider grin. "I don't know why you suddenly care about the legal issues again."

"I 'suddenly care' because places like Cranston Academy do thorough background checks," she said. "Very thorough. And we'll definitely get caught."

"Don't worry about it," Sam assured her. "I've got it all worked out. You play your part, it'll run smoothly."

She heaved a sigh. "Why couldn't I just be lunchroom lady?"

* * *

_Cranston Academy,_

_Neville, New Hampshire._

Jennifer couldn't remember the last time she'd been so nervous. Though she'd never let the Winchester brothers know it, the idea of standing before a group of teenagers scared the crap out of her. She knew how high school kids could be; bad memories of her freshman year still haunted her, and she didn't want to relive them. Besides that, she wasn't sure she could control a classroom full of rowdy, pubescent kids.

However, she kept in mind that these young teens weren't your average kids. The students at Cranston Academy were wealthy, hand-selected, child-genius, know-it-alls who surely knew more about the course material than she did. Which might make things worse. She didn't know if she could handle their judgmental stares. Plus, she was afraid they might be quick to sense her uneasiness and figure out she wasn't really a teacher.

As she walked down the hallway toward her classroom, the heels of her black pumps clacking loudly against the tile floor, she really wished Sam had gotten her the lunchroom lady job instead.

Jennifer reached room one-nineteen and came to a stop. She made sure her clothing was in place. Straightened her posture. Sucked in a deep breath. Sam's words echoed in her mind: _Play your part, it'll run smoothly. _She clung to that hope and pushed open the door. Her heart was beating out of her chest as she entered the classroom and laid eyes upon her students for the first time.

The group of ninth-graders was small, made up of eleven kids all dressed up in their fancy private school uniforms: maroon plaid jumpers with matching ties and starched white shirts for the girls; maroon cardigan sweaters featuring the school crest, matching plaid ties, starched white shirts, and khaki pants for the guys.

They were a spiffy bunch, for sure.

Giving them the best smile she could muster, Jennifer set her books on the podium at the front of the classroom. "Good morning, class," she said. She was shocked when half the class actually reciprocated her greeting. "I'm Miss Wilson, your new English teacher. It's nice to meet you all."

A couple of students smiled welcomingly at her, which helped set her at ease.

"Now, I do have a lesson plan prepared," she lied, "but I was hoping we could begin things today by discussing what you've been working on recently. I'd like to get an idea of where you guys are before we jump into anything."

A brown-haired girl in the second row slipped up her hand.

"Yes?"

"We just finished reading _Oedipus Rex_," the girl told her. "We were supposed to have a class discussion today."

An enormous wave of relief swept over her. Luckily, Jennifer had read _Oedipus Rex _in college. She'd written both a three-page plot synopsis and a ten-page research paper on it, so she was quite familiar with the text. She thought it seemed a little advanced for ninth-graders, though. Of course, she kept forgetting, these students _were _advanced.

"Alright then," she told the class. "A class discussion on _Oedipus Rex _sounds like a great place to start."

* * *

"Everybody," Dean shouted at his class of music appreciation students as he propped on the desk, "grab an instrument."

The group remained in their seats as if they hadn't heard him.

Dean frowned. "Your butts glued to the chairs or somethin'?"

Hesitantly, a red-haired girl in the front row raised her hand. "Mr. Fisher?"

"Yes?"

"This is a theory class."

Dean shrugged. "So?"

"Mrs. Vanhorn doesn't let us play instruments in this class."

"Do I look like Mrs. Vanhorn to you?"

The room went silent.

"Today, I'm in charge, and I say grab an instrument," he told them, eyeing the red-haired girl. "Surely you play an instrument?"

"Of course I do," the redhead replied defensively. "I play piano, cello, violin, mandolin, clarinet, oboe-"

"Alright, we get it, Mozart," he cut in with a growl. "Stop bragging. Nobody likes a show-off." He turned to the others. "Now, everybody, get up and grab an instrument."

The teenagers hopped up from their desks and scrambled around the classroom, hurrying to follow his orders. They raced toward the shelves that lined each wall; shelves that were covered from top to bottom with various types of musical instruments.

"It doesn't matter which one you get," Dean said. "Just pick something."

"Mr. Fisher," a chubby, freckled boy called him, "I don't think we have enough for everybody."

"Then find a partner and share."

"But-"

"Come on, guys, look around. There's all kinda fun stuff," Dean told the group. "Triangles, tambourines, bongos…that big African-lookin' thing in the corner…"

"You mean the djembe?" the redheaded show-off asked.

He glared at her. "Yes. The djembe." Once everyone had an instrument, he told them to return to their seats. "Now, I want you to break up into groups of three and, uh, make up your own songs."

The red-haired girl looked at him, incredulous. "What is this, preschool?"

"You're cruisin' for detention, Pippi," Dean snarled. "You said this was a theory class, right?" She nodded. "Well, then use all your fancy theories when you're coming up with your song. Unlike Mrs. Vanhorn, I firmly believe that in order to learn a _theory_, you must put it into practice."

A pimply kid holding a lap harp raised his hand.

Dean sighed. "What?"

"Sorry, Mr. Fisher, but what does making up a song have to do with today's lesson on dodecaphony?"

Dean's eyebrows jumped up. "_What_-a-phony?"

"Dodecaphony."

"Who said anything about that?"

"It's on our syllabus," another kid spoke up. "Mrs. Vanhorn has us covering dodecaphony this week."

"Well, Mrs. Vanhorn isn't here, is she?" Dean reminded them. "You can catch up whenever she gets back from her trip to Mongolia." He headed for the door. "I'm gonna step out for a second while you kids get to work on those songs, okay? I wanna hear some chart-toppers when I get back."

He slipped out of the room and closed the door behind him, smiling to himself. Being in control of a classroom, bossing around a bunch of nerds…it was great fun. He found himself having a good time. But he wasn't there to play school. After making sure he had the hallway to himself, he removed his EMF meter from a pocket of his black slacks and switched it on.

The device blipped softly as he traveled down the corridor toward the faculty offices. He tried to act casual while doing so, keeping in mind that his every move was being watched by expensive security cameras.

Even after he reached the closed door to Myra Bell's office-turned-crime-scene, the EMF meter picked up nothing unusual. He glanced over his shoulder again. If he could just have a peek inside… No one was around to see him. Except for the stinking cameras.

"Hey."

Dean jumped. The sound of his brother's voice had startled him. He turned and gave Sam a quick once-over. "Nice jumpsuit."

Before meeting Dean's eyes, Sam self-consciously looked down at the dull gray uniform he was forced to wear as a security camera monitor. "Found anything yet?" Sam asked.

"So far, a big steaming pile of nothin'." Dean clicked off the EMF detector and returned it to his pocket. "Thanks to these damn cameras."

"I know," Sam sighed. "I'll take care of them soon enough. The other camera guy goes on break in fifteen minutes."

"How about you? Found anything shady?"

Sam shook his head. "Haven't really had a chance to get my hands dirty." He suddenly wrinkled his forehead. "Shouldn't you be teaching your music class right now?"

A grin spread across Dean's face. "Oh, uh, they're working on a little project at the moment."

"Project?"

"Yeah. I told them to write a song."

Sam lifted an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

"What's wrong with that?"

"Dean, this is Cranston Academy, not _School of Rock_."

"Are you comparing me to Jack Black? The guy's a total douche in that movie. At least I didn't come to class with a hangover my first day."

"You're Julliard-trained. Remember?"

"I know. And my alma mater would be proud. Making up songs is a good, educational, hands-on experience."

Sam rolled his irises. "Right."

"Well, it is!"

"Okay. I'll check back with you in a bit," Sam said, moving away. He cracked a smile. "Go check on your students."


	73. 2x02, III: Hot for Teacher

_Cranston Academy Control Room._

_About ten minutes later._

The control room, which was about the size of a walk-in closet, housed the video displays for the security cameras that oversaw Cranston Academy's halls. A single swivel office chair sat in front of a console covered with several six-inch screens. Despite their small size, the screens presented viewers with full-color, high-resolution images of various locations within the school.

Sam stood in front of those screens, shoulder to shoulder with Horace Floyd, a weasel-faced man who monitored the cameras full-time.

"Not much to it, really," Horace told Sam. "Each camera's got its own controls." He leaned forward and pointed to the screen that showed the empty cafeteria. He drew Sam's attention to the two knobs beneath the picture. "The knob on the left lets you zoom in and out."

Horace turned the knob on the left. The view of the cafeteria narrowed, moving in to focus on a soda machine. He flicked the knob in the opposite direction, and the view expanded, showing the entire lunchroom again.

"The knob on the right lets you move the camera around sideways," Horace said. He turned the other knob back and forth, which changed the view of the cafeteria horizontally. Standing upright, Horace grinned at Sam. "Think you can manage that?"

Sam nodded with a smile. "I think so."

"Alrighty." He bent down and retrieved a red lunchbox and thermos from the corner. He moved toward the door. "I'll be back in a while."

Sam watched as Horace Floyd disappeared. The second he was out of sight, Sam settled into the swivel chair, pulled out his BlackBerry, and dialed Dean's number.

* * *

"Are you sure nobody's coming?" Dean asked his brother through his cell phone as he stood outside the dead English teacher's off-limits office.

"_Yes, Dean. I'm sure. I've got a clear view of the hallways. Everybody's in class right now."_

"Can you see me?"

"_Nope. You're good. I moved the camera around so you're not in the shot."_

Dean kept the phone to his ear as he got out his lock-pick and began working on the closed office door. "Okay. Just pay attention and keep me posted."

_Sam sighed. "I will."_

Ms. Bell's door was unlocked in seconds. He slipped the pick into a pocket. "Am I still good?"

"_Yep."_

"Okay." Dean opened the door. "Goin' in."

Glancing cautiously over his shoulder, Dean flipped on the light and crossed the threshold. He crinkled his nose as a strong coppery odor met his nostrils. Then he noticed that very little of the green carpet was actually green. "Crap. There's blood everywhere."

"_Any traces of sulfur?"_

"Not yet." He pulled out his EMF meter and turned it on. As he walked around the tiny, messy office, the dial on the device never moved. The numbers never fluctuated to indicate paranormal activity. "No EMF either."

"_Keep looking. You're still in the clear."_

Dean followed Sam's directions and checked out Ms. Bell's paper-covered desk. The area around her computer. The wastebasket. "Dude, there's nothing. This place is clean." He paused. "Well, you know, except for the carpet. It could really use the Merry Maids-"

"_Are there any exits besides the door? A window? Anything?" _

"Nope," Dean replied, glancing around. "No windows. I'd hate to work in a place like this. There's no way out except…" He looked up at the ceiling. A small air vent caught his eye. "Wait a minute."

The air vent was streaked with blood.

"How'd the cops miss this?"

"_What?"_

"The air vent. There's blood on it." Dean scooted the chair away from the desk and stepped into it, raising himself to the vent for a closer look. "But, man, the vent isn't even a foot long. You'd have to be Eugene Victor Tooms to get through this thing."

"_So we're looking for a genetic mutant serial killer. Great."_

Both screws still held the vent cover in place, Dean observed. He began unscrewing them. "I'm gonna try to get a look inside. Hang on a second." Once the cover was off, he pulled his phone away from his ear and lifted it to the vent, using the light from the screen as a makeshift flashlight.

But it was no good.

Dean exhaled loudly and brought his cell back to his head. "It's too tight of a space. I can't see anything."

"_Huh. Maybe we- oh, no. Oh, crap. Somebody's coming. You need to get outta there. Fast."_

Dean leapt down from the chair, vent cover in hand. Thinking quickly, he grabbed a sweater from Ms. Bell's coat rack and wiped down the cover, ridding the thing of his fingerprints. He tossed both the sweater and the cover behind the desk and ran for the door.

"_Dean, hurry up."_

"I'm trying, Sam." He flicked off the light. Pulled the door closed behind him. He hurried down the hallway and nearly bumped into a pale man with shaggy black hair and an outfit that matched his hair color. "Sorry, buddy. Didn't see you there."

The man stopped in his tracks and stared icily at Dean.

Dean awkwardly stared back. He cleared his throat. "Uh, well, I-"

"I don't believe we've had the pleasure," the man in black said. It sounded sarcastic. His dark eyes scrutinized Dean and didn't seem to like what they found. "Who are you, exactly?"

"I, uh, I'm the new music teacher. The _substitute_, that is." He discreetly dropped his cell phone into his pants pocket and extended his hand toward the man in black. "I'm Dean. Dean Fisher."

The man stared judgmentally at Dean's hand and did not shake it. "Amos Warwick. I teach biology, chemistry, anatomy, and physics to our upper-level students."

Dean immediately recognized the man's name. If his memory was right, Amos Warwick had found Myra Bell's body. But now was obviously not the time to bring that up. "Wow," he said instead. "A man of many talents."

Mr. Warwick continued to stare at him. "Shouldn't you be in class, Mr. Fisher?"

"I, uh, I was. I just had to run to the powder room."

"The restroom is located in the main hall."

"Yes, well, like I said, I'm new." Dean scratched the back of his neck. "I got a little turned around."

Warwick's eyes narrowed. "Should I…set you straight?"

"No," Dean said fast. "Thanks, but I, uh, I think I can manage. Nice meeting you." He forced a smile and rushed down the hallway, leaving Amos Warwick to stare creepily after him.

Once Dean was around the corner and out of sight, he muttered to himself, "Holy crap."

* * *

A few minutes later, Dean strolled down a different hallway toward his wife's classroom, anxious to tell her what he'd found. The door to her room was open, and he was surprised to her voice echoing out into the hall. Curious, he listened carefully:

"-and we've got Tiresias, the blind prophet," she was saying. "Now, let's just talk about Tiresias for a second. The poor guy. He's constantly insulted and rejected. Oedipus talks to him like he's a nobody, when in reality, Tiresias is the wisest character in the story. He's the only one who actually knows what's going on."

Wondering who in the world Tiresias was, Dean moved closer to the door.

"Tiresias isn't affected by the verbal abuse," she said. "He stonewalls, but it's only because he doesn't want to tell Oedipus the prophecy."

Dean was just outside the door now, watching Jennifer from the hallway. He could see her leaning against the podium, yellow chalk in hand, as she rambled on about this Tiresias guy to the group of students.

"When he's first brought before Oedipus, he says something about blindness that's very ironic, considering the way the story ends."

Dean wrinkled his forehead. _Where was she getting this crap? _He inhaled deeply. "Excuse me," he interrupted. "Miss Wilson?" He stepped inside the classroom and glanced at the students. "Sorry, kids. Just need to borrow your teacher for a moment."

Jennifer set down the piece of chalk she was holding. "Hold that thought, guys," she told the group. "I'll be right back." She followed Dean into the hallway and closed the door behind her.

"Damn," Dean said the second the door shut, giving her an appraisal. He drank in her purple scoop-neck blouse, form-fitting gray pencil skirt, nude pantyhose, and black patent heels. "You look good." He grinned. "If my high school English teachers had been as fine as you, I might actually have a high school diploma instead of a GED."

"Why'd you pull me out of class?"

"Well," he said, smirking, "I thought we could spend a little time in the teacher's lounge. If you get my drift."

Her cheeks turned slightly pink. "Dean, please, my students are-"

"Uh…_your _students? They're not really your students, you know. You're not even a real teacher. You don't _have _to teach them."

"Shh." Her eyes shifted nervously around the empty hallway. "I know. But I'm getting paid to, and if I slack off, they'll report me."

He huffed. "Yeah, right. What kids are gonna report a teacher for giving them some free time?"

"Dean, these kids are nerds."

"…True. But still, how can you teach some crap you don't know? I overheard you just now. Have you even read that book?"

Jennifer frowned at him. "It's _Oedipus Rex_, Dean. Who _hasn't _read it? Besides you? And by the way, it's a play, not a book."

"Whatever. And come on, I know _Oedipus. _Some dude bangs his mom. It's where the whole Oedipus complex thing comes from."

She rolled her eyes. "There's a whole lot more to it than that. It's a classic Greek tragedy that deals with the ultimate question of fate versus free will."

After staring blankly at her for a few seconds, he asked, "How do you even know that?"

"It's common knowledge, Dean."

"My God, you're as bad as Sam."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"It wasn't one."

"_Why _did you pull me out of class?" Jennifer asked for a second time. "And why aren't _you _in class, teaching music appreciation?"

"Because unlike you, I've been doing what we came here to do. I checked out the dead teacher's office. Looks like whatever killed her climbed out through the air vent. A very _tiny _air vent. I couldn't even fit my face in it to see inside."

"So, what, we're dealing with Eugene Victor Tooms?"

Dean grinned. "I wondered the same thing. But really, I don't have a clue. There was no sulfur, no EMF, nothing. By the way, have you met that Warwick guy?"

She folded her arms across her chest. "Yeah. Briefly, in the teacher's lounge. He kept staring at me. He's creepy."

"You can say that again."

"I need to get back to my class, Dean. We can catch up at lunch."

"Okay." His face brightened at the mention of the upcoming meal. "I can't wait. I hear it's Taco Tuesday."

"Great. You, Sam, and refried beans."

He chuckled and stole a quick kiss on the lips. "See ya in the lunchroom, babe." He winked. "I'll save you a seat."

* * *

_The Cafeteria._

A dozen or so long, rectangular, fold-up tables provided enough seating for the entire Cranston Academy student body as well as the faculty. The table in the back corner held the six instructors who taught grades nine through twelve.

Mr. Warwick sat at the end of the table, against the wall, as far away from the other teachers as he could get. He spoke to no one and frowned constantly while he ate the cucumber sandwich he'd brought from home.

Two seats down from Mr. Warwick sat Ms. Harmon, a quiet, snooty-looking woman who taught algebra and calculus. Though she was friendlier than Warwick, she kept primarily to herself.

The tan, bearded P.E. and foreign languages teacher, Mr. Gutierrez, sat next to Ms. Harmon and across the table from Dean and Jennifer. Mr. Gutierrez was too busy reading a Steinbeck novel to be friendly.

Jennifer and Dean were next to Mrs. Rhodes, the history teacher. Mrs. Rhodes was a petite woman, barely five feet tall, and was very unlike the others in the way she chatted openly and could hold a decent conversation.

"So, how are you two liking Cranston so far?" Mrs. Rhodes asked the undercover couple.

"It's great," Jennifer replied. "The students are wonderful. So intelligent. I've been very impressed so far."

Dean nodded, munching on his third hard-shelled taco. He spoke with his mouth full, saying something that sounded like "Yersh." Jennifer nudged him under the table, and he swallowed the bite he was chewing. "Yes," he corrected himself, enunciating properly. "They're very smart."

The apples of Mrs. Rhodes' cheeks reddened as she smiled. "Mr. Fisher, I heard a few of your music appreciation students discussing your lesson this morning. Unusual tactics, I must say."

"Well, I thought I'd go easy on 'em," Dean said. "I know it's been tough for them lately. With their former English teacher's death and all."

"Yes, I heard about that," Jennifer said, following Dean's lead. "How awful. You all must have been so shocked."

Mrs. Rhodes lowered her gaze to the plate of nachos before her. "Yes. It was a devastating loss for our school."

"And to think that one of these brilliant young minds was responsible for it…" Dean shook his head. "You've gotta wonder where things went wrong."

Silence took over the table.

"I still can't believe little Maggie Thomas was capable of something so horrendous," Mr. Gutierrez, the P.E./foreign languages teacher, spoke up, setting his novel aside for a moment. "She was always such an exemplary student."

Mrs. Rhodes nodded sadly. "A sweet girl, too. Kind-hearted."

"She had such promise," Mr. Gutierrez said. "Did you know she'd been selected to attend a special two-week seminar at Dartmouth?"

"Really?" gasped Ms. Harmon, the math teacher.

Even creepy Mr. Warwick lifted a brow.

"Ms. Bell suggested the whole thing," Mr. Gutierrez went on. "She helped her with the application, wrote a letter of recommendation. She worked everything out for her." He took a sip from his bottle of Dasani. "For Maggie to-to turn on her like that…it makes no sense. None whatsoever."

"What happened to Maggie?" Jennifer asked.

"No one knows," Mrs. Rhodes said. "No one's seen her since that afternoon. She must have run away after she realized what she'd done." She sighed. "I still can't believe it."

"I swear, it's like this place is cursed," Mr. Gutierrez said, slapping his water bottle on the table. He turned and looked at Dean and Jennifer. "It's been one dead body after another around here."

Dean started to comment, but Mr. Warwick interrupted.

"Gutierrez," Mr. Warwick hissed, "please spare us your preposterous theories."

"No. Something's going on in this place and you know it. For Heaven's sake, Amos, you found Myra's body. You know Maggie couldn't have done something so-"

"The true nature of people can surprise you," Mr. Warwick said, giving Mr. Gutierrez his signature icy stare. His lip curled with disgust as he added, "Deplorable as it may be."

Dean and Jennifer exchanged thoughtful glances.

"Come on!" Mr. Gutierrez was nearly shouting. "Five deaths in one month? There's more to this than everyone thinks. Maggie hasn't been the only one acting out of character-"

"Alright now, settle down," Ms. Harmon interrupted. The snooty-looking math teacher appeared embarrassed about his loud volume. "The students are starting to stare."

Both Dean and Jennifer looked around the lunchroom at this statement and realized Ms. Harmon wasn't exaggerating. Nearly every face in the cafeteria was turned their way. As the couple returned the kids' gazes, the few inattentive heads twisted toward them in one smooth, synchronized motion.

After an uncomfortable moment of silence, Mrs. Rhodes forced a cheerful tone and changed the topic to the upcoming school production of _Hamlet_. Ms. Harmon and Mr. Warwick seemed thankful for the subject change. All of the students went back to eating their tacos.

Except for about seven of them.

These kids, scattered across the cafeteria and ranging in age from about nine to thirteen, kept staring at the teachers' table. They sat with perfect posture. Not once did they blink. None of them moved a muscle. It was as if they were frozen.

Discreetly, Dean elbowed Jennifer's side. She glanced at him. He cocked his head toward the children.

She looked at the group once more and was stricken with uneasiness. The frozen ones were still staring, and something was very…_off _about them.

"Kinda creepy, right?" Dean whispered to her.

She gulped and nodded. "Yeah. Really creepy."


	74. 2x02, IV: All the Children Are Insane

"Man, I don't know what to think," Dean confessed with frustration as the three Winchesters strolled the halls of Cranston Academy after lunch. He kept his voice low as he recapped. "We've got five dead people connected to this place. One dead teacher wasted by a missing ninth grader who somehow managed to shrink herself enough to fit through an air vent smaller than my head. There's a couple of teachers who know too much. There's _one _teacher who's massively creepy." He sighed. "And now, something's up with the kids." He scratched the side of his face. "I'm telling you, it's _Strange Days at Blake Holsey High_."

"Yeah," Jennifer agreed. She lowered her voice to a whisper as they rounded a corner. "I'm starting to think the problem _is _the kids. You know, besides the one who already killed a teacher."

Dean smirked. "Yeah."

"Well," Sam said, "I think you're right. I'm thinking we might be dealing with changelings."

With raised eyebrows, Dean asked, "Changelings? Where'd you come up with that?"

Sam stuffed his hands in the pockets of his gray jumpsuit as they walked. He held off his answer as a couple of students rushed past them. "Changelings are creatures that mimic children. They kidnap a kid, assume their form, and replace them, all to feed on the synovial fluid of the kid's mom." He cleared his throat and quieted his tone when a girl with braces gave him a funny look. "Now, like you said, everyone who's died was connected to Cranston. A bus driver, two students' dads, a baby sitter, Ms. Bell…"

"The two-week seminar," Dean thought aloud. He glanced at his wife. "Remember? Gutierrez just said Ms. Bell worked everything out so Maggie could go on a special two-week seminar to Dartmouth."

"That's right," Jennifer recalled.

Dean looked at Sam. "Looks like Maggie Thomas wasn't Maggie Thomas. The changeling replacing her couldn't survive for two weeks without feeding."

"It couldn't let Ms. Bell send it off to Dartmouth, away from the real Maggie's mom," said Sam. "So, it killed her."

"Yep," said Dean. "Changelings sure do love their food. They'll kill anything that comes between them and their next meal."

"Such as Dad and the babysitter," Jennifer said.

"Exactly." Sam smiled awkwardly at a passing teen. "And I'm willing to bet the dead bus driver was somehow getting between a changeling and its dinner, too."

Jennifer had an expression of concentration across her features. "Dean, did you notice when Gutierrez said Maggie wasn't the only one 'acting out of character'?"

"Yeah."

"I wonder exactly who he was talking about." Her eyes scanned the hallway, studying each of the nearby kids. "I wonder how many changelings are running around this school."

Dean grimaced as he looked around at the uniform-clad students. "That's a creepy thought."

Jennifer swallowed. "What happens to the kids that are kidnapped?"

Sam heaved a sigh. "They're hidden underground somewhere." A pause. "For snacks."

"But I thought changelings feed on synov-"

"They do. But if these kids are changelings, someone's probably controlling them and-"

Dean huffed. "My money's on Professor Snape."

"You mean Mr. Warwick?" asked Jennifer.

"Yeah," said Dean. "He's creepy enough. Remember what he said at lunch about the 'true nature of people surprising you'? Sounded like a hint. Plus, he was the one that found the English teacher's body. Makes sense to me."

"Except that we're looking for a female," Sam said. "The mother changeling. She's the one who…feeds on children."

Jennifer's eyes were wide with concern. "Is there a chance any of these kids could still be alive?"

"There's a chance," Sam replied. "And that's why we've gotta move fast."

"Well," said Dean, "we know this thing slid up in the air ducts. Any ideas where could it have gone after that?"

"Probably not far from the school," said Sam.

_RING!_

The three of them jumped as the shrill class bell sounded through the corridors.

"Crap," Jennifer sighed. "I've gotta get to my class. Maybe I can get something out of my kids."

Sam's eyebrows arched with amusement. "_Your _kids?"

"It's annoying, isn't it?" Dean said, rolling his eyes. "She's taking this teaching thing way too seriously."

Jennifer frowned at him. "Whatever. I've gotta go. Be careful, both of you."

"You too," said Sam.

They watched her walk away, heels clacking loudly as she did so.

"Don't you have a class to get to?" Sam asked his brother, who was still eyeing the back of Jennifer.

"Nah. I've got a free period. Which seems to me like a good time to check out the school grounds. See if we can find this mother changeling's pantry."

The hallway was suddenly silent. All the students and teachers were back in their classrooms.

"Okay," said Sam. "Sounds like a plan."

The brothers turned a corner and headed down the empty hall toward a side exit. A maroon Cranston sweater up ahead caught their eye. A young boy- barely eleven, judging by his looks- was hurrying alone toward the double doors.

"Hey!" Dean called after him. His deep voice echoed through the corridor.

The boy glanced over his shoulder at the Winchesters and sped up.

"Where do you think you're going?" Dean asked, increasing his speed to catch up with the kid. Sam followed.

The boy stopped inches from the doors. "I'm going home."

"Look, kid," Dean said, "this ain't _Ferris Bueller's Day Off_. You better get your butt back to class. Unless you wanna make a stop by the principal's office."

"I'm going home," the kid repeated. "I don't feel well. I have permission from the nurse."

"Uh-huh," said Dean, disbelievingly. "You get that permission in writing?"

The boy moved closer to the door.

Suddenly, Sam noticed the pane of glass in the door. He gasped. He could see the boy's reflection, but what was staring back at him looked nothing like the child. The image in the glass revealed the boy's true visage- gray, slimy skin. Hollowed-out eyes. Round scolex of a mouth filled with rows of bladelike teeth. An image that closely resembled the Flukeman from _The X-Files. _

"Dean," Sam breathed. "He's one of them."

The boy burst through the double doors and took off down the cobblestone sidewalk. Sam and Dean dashed after him. Down the side of the Gothic stone building and around the back they went.

Then the changeling was gone. No sign of the kid anywhere.

"Where'd he go?" Dean wondered, glancing desperately around the well-manicured campus green. There was nothing but trees and shrubs.

And a sewer manhole.

Dean made a face as they stared down at it. "Man," he groaned. "Why's it always gotta be the sewer?"

* * *

After a quick trip to the car to retrieve proper equipment (flashlights and flare guns), Sam and Dean lifted the manhole cover and descended into the dark, smelly pit.

Once inside, Dean grunted as he slid the cover back into place. "Just once," he climbed down the ladder and found the ground, "_just once_, could the bad guys find nicer digs?"

Sam clicked on his flashlight. "Really. Jennifer's lucky she's missing this."

Dean nodded. "You know, the last time we were in a sewer, you tried to kill me."

"Dean, that wasn't me. It was a shapeshifter."

"Yeah, but it was running around in your meat suit," Dean replied as they moved deeper into the subterranean tunnel. "I'm glad we're not hunting one of those bastards this time. I hate those things."

"Not like changelings are any more fun."

"True. The death by fire part's a real bitch. How are we supposed to light up a bunch of monsters disguised as kids?"

"According to legend, we don't have to. The only one we need to take out is the mother changeling. The second she's gone, the rest of them dissolve immediately."

"Sweet. Then let's hope we can find the mother."

Their conversation came to an end when they heard a noise originating from an adjacent tunnel that ran perpendicular to the main one. They moved quietly toward the sound, keeping their flare guns at the ready. They reached the attached tunnel and peered cautiously around the corner.

A row of iron cages lined the walls of the passageway. Inside of them were a handful of frightened Cranston students. And one teacher.

Dean recognized the woman. She had sat across from Jennifer and him at lunch. It was the snooty-looking math teacher, Ms. Harmon, only now she looked more horrified than snooty. He and Sam rushed to the group and began unlocking the cages.

Sam was happy to see that one of the caged students was Maggie Thomas, still very much alive. She whimpered as he knelt down, set his flare gun aside, and broke the lock on her trap. "Shh, it's gonna be okay," he whispered, offering a comforting smile.

She cried louder and pointed her finger. "Behind you!"

Startled, both brothers glanced up from the cages and turned around.

A _second_ Ms. Harmon stood behind them, looking more furious than snooty.

"Dean!" Sam shouted. "She's the mother!"

Dean raised his flare gun instantly and pulled the trigger. Sparks exploded from the barrel and, to the horror of the children, struck the 'woman' in the chest. She staggered backwards from the impact and burst into flames.

"Come on!" Sam rounded up the students and began leading them out of the passageway. "Stay together, let's get out of here."

Dean followed his brother, ushering the last of the children away from the fire.


	75. 2x02, V: Destiny

_Cranston Academy._

After freeing the kidnapped students from the sewer, Dean and Sam decided it was best to hit the road before too many questions arose. Dean went to the school parking lot to move the Impala and start the heater, while Sam headed inside for Jennifer.

It was time for her English class to start winding down, so he found her classroom and chose to wait outside the open door. He was shocked to hear her actually _teaching_.

"-Oedipus was fated to murder his father and marry his mother. It was a prophecy foretold from his birth," Jennifer was saying. "It was his destiny."

Sam leaned against the wall and listened.

"And despite all the efforts of Oedipus, the efforts of his father, King Laius, the prophecy is fulfilled. Back at the beginning, when Laius first hears that he will die at the hand of his own son, he leaves the baby to die in the wilderness. He thinks he's outsmarted destiny by doing this, but it's_ this act_ that carries the prophecy out. _This act _leads to Oedipus' rescue by a shepherd, which leads to him being raised by someone other than Laius, which ultimately leads to Laius' murder."

Sam smiled to himself, impressed.

"Just think," Jennifer said. "If King Laius, in the beginning, hadn't been so scared of the prophecy, of his son's evil destiny, if he hadn't tried so hard to stop it from coming true, could things have turned out differently?"

Silence.

"If he'd kept the baby that was supposed to kill him and ignored the prophecy, could everyone have been saved? Or is destiny just that. _Destiny. _And it can't be changed?" Jennifer asked the class. "It's the ultimate debate over fate and free will. And I think the point here is that…free will doesn't really exist."

Sam's eyebrows arched.

"The only thing that exists is fate," he heard her say. "The choices we make are…not really our choices at all." She paused. "No matter what we do, destiny is destiny. And there's something or someone working behind the scenes to bring it about."

_RING!_

Sam was listening so attentively to Jennifer's voice that he actually jumped when the bell rang. The sound of rustling papers and rushing feet soon followed.

"All right, guys, have a great afternoon," Jennifer told the group. "See you later."

Sam moved aside as the students filed out of the classroom. When the last one passed him and the room was free of teenagers, he stepped across the threshold. Jennifer was erasing neatly written notes from the chalkboard.

"Hey," he greeted her.

Her face lit up when she saw him. "Oh, hey." She set down the eraser. "No jumpsuit?"

Sam looked down at his button-down shirt and jeans. "Yeah. I had to change. It got a little dirty in the sewer."

"The sewer?"

"Yeah. We'll have to fill you in on the details, but uh, looks like…case closed."

"Oh. Okay. Great. Where's Dean?"

"Bringing the car around."

Jennifer straightened a few papers on her desk. "So, how'd you manage to get all the changelings?"

"Well, we torched the mother, which zapped all the changeling children, too," Sam informed her. "I thought you would have heard something by now. It's been kinda chaotic for some classes."

"What do you mean?"

"The changeling kids mysteriously vanished from their seats during class. People were thinking it was the Rapture."

"Oh, gosh," she said. She gave him a slight grin. "Not yet, right?"

"Heh. Right."

"Are the real kids okay?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. They're all scarred for life, but they'll be alright."

"Well," she said, gathering her things together, "I'm glad. Sorry I wasn't any help this time."

"Oh, no, you were," Sam protested. He cracked a smile. "You at least helped keep Dean in line."

She smiled back as she slung her purse over her shoulder. "That does seem like a two-person job sometimes."

It grew quiet as they walked out the door together.

"So," Sam sighed, closing the classroom door behind them. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans as they strolled down the hallway. "I, uh, I overheard your lesson. Sounded like you really know your stuff. I gotta say, I was pretty impressed."

She blushed a little. "Thanks."

"I always thought _Oedipus Rex _was an interesting one," said Sam.

"Me too."

"That, uh, that last part," Sam said. "The whole free will not existing, destiny calls the shots thing." His right eye twitched nervously as he met her eyes. "Is that how you really feel?"

The question seemed to catch her off guard. "I, um…I'm not really sure," she admitted. "I guess I was putting on a little for the class, but…I don't know."

As they reached the end of the hall, Sam held open the door for her and allowed her to exit first. She thanked him.

"It's a hard subject," Jennifer said as they moved outside. The cold air nipped at their skin. "Fate versus free will. I've thought about it a lot, you know?"

He nodded.

"I keep thinking about that fortune teller's prediction," she told him. "The one back in Indiana. That stupid mannequin gave Dean and me the same fortune. We were destined to be together, to 'unite in love as we face the dark together'." She exhaled loudly. Her breath froze in the air. "And well…look what happened."

Thinking of the ominous fortune he had received from the mannequin, Sam released a nervous laugh. "Yeah."

"Dean kept saying it was a load of crap. Remember? He didn't want to believe in destiny. But even though we avoided each other and went our separate ways, we kept meeting up again in the most random places." Jennifer lifted her eyes to his and smiled. "We kept getting into these situations…it was like…Someone _wanted _us together."

Sam stared at the cobblestone sidewalk.

"I'm not trying to compare a carnival fortune-telling mannequin to the Tiresias the blind prophet," Jennifer said, "but there was a 'prophecy' and it was fulfilled, though we tried to stop it. But unlike Oedipus, in this case, it wasn't a bad thing. _At all_."

Sam forced a smile as they reached the Impala.

"So, anyway, to answer your question, I guess I really don't know what to think." She pulled open one of the rear doors. "You can sit up front this time."

Feeling a bit uneasy about all the destiny talk, he moved around to the other side of the car and climbed into the passenger's seat. The warmth of the car's heater greeted him pleasantly.

"Any of '_your' _kids pull a Houdini mid-class?" Dean asked his wife once she was inside.

"Nope," she replied, buckling her seatbelt. "I didn't even know anything had happened."

Dean shifted into drive and rolled away from the school. "That musta been something," he said. "Kids vanishing right outta their desks. Some people thought it was the Rapture."

Sam was quiet as he looked out the window, watching as a few snowflakes dropped from the sky and stuck to the glass. Then someone outside caught his attention.

A tall man dressed in black was standing between two bare maple trees, staring at Sam. Sam knew him at once. It was the same stranger he'd seen in the motel parking lot a week and a half ago. In Bethsaida, Arkansas, over fifteen hundred miles away from here. Even with the illumination of the sunlight, the man was still too far away for Sam to make out his features.

"That man," Sam heard himself say.

Dean's forehead wrinkled. "Huh?"

"That man over there," Sam repeated, glancing briefly at his brother. He turned back to the window and found the spot between the two maple trees empty. The man was gone. Again.

Jennifer peered out the window, trying to figure out what her brother-in-law was talking about. Dean did the same.

"What?" Dean asked.

Feeling slightly schizophrenic, Sam sighed. "Never mind."

Dean gave his little brother an okay-Weirdy-McWeirderton look and didn't push the subject. He guided the '67 Chevy onto the main road, flicking on the windshield wipers as the snowfall grew heavier. He sighed loudly and turned on the radio. All he got was static. He gave the dial a couple of taps, but nothing changed. Keeping his eyes on the snowy road, he turned the station selector knob to find a new station. Static. Taylor Swift. Static. A gospel choir singing a soulful hymn. More static. The latest hit from Lady Gaga. Static again. Then Taylor Swift again.

Dean grunted and turned the radio off. "Put a tape in, will ya?"

Sam reached to the floorboard to get Dean's unorganized box of cassette tapes. He rummaged through the titles, most of them scrawled in Dean's bold all-caps print. Metallica. Motorhead. AC/DC. "Which one?"

"I don't care."

With a weary sigh, Sam pulled one out at random. _Boston: Greatest Hits_. He opened the case, removed the cassette, and pushed it into the player. The guitar-driven intro to "Higher Power" started up.

"Boston?" Dean complained. "_Really_?"

Sam sighed again. "You just said-"

"I know." Dean turned the volume up as the drums joined in. "It's fine. This one's not too bad."

They continued down the road with the sounds of Boston's "Higher Power" filling the vehicle. It had just reached the chorus when Jennifer screamed from the backseat, "Look out!"

The brothers glanced out the windows in a frantic search for the thing that had caused her cry. At the same moment, they spotted it. A large cargo truck in the oncoming lane had appeared out of nowhere. It was crossing the line and barreling straight toward them.

Dean jammed on the brakes and jerked the steering wheel to the right with all the speed and strength he had in him. But it wasn't enough.

The cargo truck slammed into the Impala.


	76. 2x03, I: Waking Up

**A/N:** Jeez! Who knew an evil cliffhanger would make you all hate me? ;) I love cliffhangers! (And apparently, so does KRIPKE, who's still got me mad about the ending of 'Swan Song'). _Anyway_. Here's the highly anticipated update. Fingers crossed it doesn't disappoint. And thank you all so very much for your reviews! I was delighted to hear your pissy reactions! lol You know how much I love reading your comments, so keep them coming!

* * *

**"The Other Side"**

* * *

When Jennifer's eyes fluttered open, she found herself in the backseat of the Impala, surrounded by snow. A thin layer of white covered the upholstery, her clothing, her face. She blinked furiously, trying to dust the freezing powdery flakes from her eyes, but it didn't seem to help. Fresh flakes kept coming at her from somewhere.

Disoriented, she glanced around.

Shattered glass. Twisted metal. Blood.

The blood was her own, she realized. That's when she noticed the pain. Her forehead burned. Her back ached due to the awkward, twisted position she'd been thrown into. Her entire body was halfway numb from the cold.

Jennifer shivered as she took in her surroundings. The left rear door, which was opposite her, was bent inward, and its window was almost completely gone. Snowflakes were drifting through the open space against a backdrop of gray. That gray backdrop, she suddenly realized, was the sky.

Still confused, it took her a moment to piece everything together. Why the sky was above her. Why the right rear door was beneath her. Why the window of the door beneath her showed only snowy ground. Then it clicked- the Impala was lying on its side.

It was coming back to her now. There had been an accident. A cargo truck had hit them and-

_Them._

She wasn't alone.

"Dean?" she screamed.

For the first time, she tried to move. She struggled to push herself forward, to sit up straight, but she couldn't do it. She was stuck.

Horrified by the silence that filled the car, she began to whimper. "Dean!" Her cries grew louder. "Sam?"

No one answered.

Her eyes filled with tears. Her pain was growing stronger, the snowfall was getting heavier, and she still couldn't budge. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed for help.

"Jennifer," a soft male voice said from above.

Instantly, she opened her eyes and looked up. A handsome Caucasian man in a black leather biker jacket stared down at her through the broken window. She'd never seen him before, but a first glance reminded her of David Boreanaz in his _Angel _days.

"Can you move?" the stranger asked her.

She shook her head.

"Hang in there, okay? I'll get you out."

The man disappeared from the window, leaving her to wait.

Suddenly, the whole car shifted to the left. She screamed as she flopped over against the seat. The David Boreanaz look-a-like reappeared at her window, which was surprisingly still in tact, and pulled open the door.

Jennifer glanced down at the snow-covered ground under the guy's black biker boots, then back into his kind hazel eyes. Somehow, this mystery man, who knew her name, had just turned the Impala upright. "How did you-"

"Are you okay? Can you move now?"

She didn't know. Again, she tried to push herself forward and, this time, she succeeded, though she could barely feel her legs.

The man leaned into the backseat and put both his arms around her. "Here, hold on to me," he said, gently guiding her out of the vehicle.

"Dean." She attempted to look over her shoulder, but her achy neck wouldn't allow it. "Dean, my husband. Do you know if-"

"Shh. Dean and Sam are fine."

He knew Dean's and Sam's names too? "How do-"

"Don't try to talk," he told her softly.

Once she was safely out of the Impala, her legs buckled and she fell against him. He placed his hands on her shoulders and helped her gain her balance.

"Sit down," he told her, carefully lowering her to the snow a few feet away from the car.

Jennifer cringed at the sight of the '67 Chevrolet. From what she could see, the beautiful machine was bent and twisted all over. Dean would be devastated.

The David Boreanaz look-a-like knelt down in front of Jennifer and gave her a good once-over. "I don't think you're bleeding anymore." He squinted as he eyed her forehead. He reached forward and brushed away a few specks of glass. "Nasty cut above your eyebrow, there."

"How-"

He got to his feet. "An ambulance is on its way."

Jennifer just stared at him, amazed.

"Don't worry, alright?" He gave her a gentle smile. "The three of you will be just fine."

Before she could ask any questions or even thank him, the stranger disappeared behind a nearby pine tree.


	77. 2x03, II: Damage Report

**A/N**: Sorry for the long delay on this one! I'm taking Anatomy and Physiology 1 over the summer, and well...let's just say studying has taken over my writing time. :( Anyway, here's a big update. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing!

* * *

Blackness.

For a long, long time.

Slowly, light from an unknown source streamed into the dark. A spackled white ceiling soon came into view, and Dean Winchester realized he was lying down. On his back. Facing the ceiling.

_What ceiling? Whose ceiling? Where-_

"Dean. You're awake. Hey."

Dean groaned. His head was throbbing, pulsing with pain, and Sam's voice was not helping. "Sammy…wh-where are we?"

"Uh, Glenview Hospital. A few miles outside of Neville, New Hampshire."

Dean turned his head and looked around at his surroundings for the first time. A small, quaint hospital room. A single puny armchair that held his overgrown younger brother. An old television that still had knobs. The walls were painted a strange shade of teal-green. Overall, the place was kind of dingy-looking.

_Dingy-looking. _A hospital. That was comforting.

"How're you feeling, Dean?"

"Like I got hit by a truck."

Sam smiled. "Well, you sorta did."

Dean suddenly jumped. "Jennifer." Grunting a bit, he pulled himself up into a sitting position. "How is she?"

"Okay. We haven't heard from the doctor yet, but the nurses seem to think she'll be fine. Just a little banged up and sore. She's sleeping right now."

"Good. Let her sleep." Dean eyed his brother carefully. "You look good. Well, you know. _Considering_."

Sam shrugged. "Yeah. And I'm kind of surprised. That thing hit us so hard, all three of us were knocked out for a while."

Dean's jaw stiffened. "How bad is the car?"

Sam winced at the mention of the Impala.

"_How bad?_"

"Bad."

"Man…"

"But not as bad as last time, and you fixed her then."

This seemed to relax Dean a little. "We'll get her towed out to Bobby's," he said. "I'm not letting anybody else touch her."

Sam smiled. "I already called him."

* * *

A heavy rapping on the door roused Jennifer from an unpleasant dream replay of the car crash. She opened her eyes to find an older, kind-faced man in a lab coat slipping into her room, medical chart in hand.

"Sorry to wake you, Mrs.…" he glanced at the chart, "Nugent." He gave her a warm smile as he closed the door and approached her bedside. "I'm Dr. Marshall. How are we feeling?"

"Fine," she replied honestly as she sat up. "I've got a little headache, but other than that, I feel fine."

"That's good news," said Dr. Marshall. "Very good." He leaned in to take a look at her bandaged forehead. "No excess bleeding. Good." He stood upright. "Have you tried walking?"

She nodded.

"Any problems?"

"No, sir."

"Excellent." Dr. Marshall flipped through his chart. "Well, Mrs. Nugent, I'm happy to say that everything appears normal." He smiled at her once more. "Looks like somebody was watching out for you."

Jennifer's stomach flopped as her thoughts went to the mystery man who had pulled her from the car. Yes, someone _had _been watching out for her. She offered a weak smile in response.

"Now." Dr. Marshall turned a page of the chart and scanned its contents. "Are you taking a prenatal vitamin?"

The random question caught her by surprise. "Uh…no."

"Alright, we'd better get you started on one. I'd recommend Trimedisyn. It's one of the best-"

"Um, sorry," Jennifer interrupted, looking slightly pink, "but did you say prenatal vitamin? I'm, uh, I'm not pregnant."

The doctor's forehead wrinkled. "According to this you are."

She stared at him blankly.

"You are Jennifer Nugent?" he asked.

She nodded hesitantly. That was the name on her fake insurance card.

"Yes," he said, double-checking the file. "You're at nine weeks, actually. I suppose the nurse assumed you already knew." He lifted his eyes to hers. "I'm so sorry about the confusion." His lips curved into a smile. "But congratulations!"

Dr. Marshall said a few other things after that, but none of it made sense to Jennifer. She caught bits every now and then- 'the baby', 'perfectly healthy', 'get some rest'- but the entire conversation was a blur.

She was _pregnant_? _Now?_

It was too soon. Way too soon. _Ridiculously _soon. She and Dean had only been married- _Dean! _How in the world was Dean going to respond to this?

Dr. Marshall said something else and left the room, smiling as happily as ever, evidently unaware that he'd just dropped a bomb on her. As the door closed behind him, Jennifer was left alone to ponder things.

She didn't _feel _pregnant.

She _couldn't_ be pregnant. She couldn't have a baby now. Not on the road with demon hunters. Not in the midst of the looming Apocalypse.

_No. _It just wasn't right.

There must have been a mistake. She had used an alias, after all. Perhaps her file had gotten mixed up with someone else's…

She'd only begun to process the news when a second knock sounded at the door. Her stomach twisted. She knew who it was. She braced herself as the Winchester brothers entered her room.

"Hey, you," Dean greeted her, grinning.

She suddenly remembered the other situation- the car accident- and was happy to see him up and around. Even happier, she realized, to see Sam alongside him. It occurred to her that she did not want to be alone with Dean right now.

As Dean started toward her bed, she quickly pulled the blankets over her abdomen as though there was something to hide.

"I sure am glad to see you," he said, wrapping an arm around her. He kissed her lips and pulled away.

Jennifer smiled at him. "I'm glad to see you too."

"Doc says you're gonna be fine," Dean told her.

She felt the blood rush from her face. "You talked to the doctor?"

"Just for a second. We ran into him in the hallway."

"Did he tell you anything else?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound as panicky as she felt.

"No. Like I said, we just bumped into him," said Dean. "Why?"

"No reason," she said, looking away from his eyes. "Oh gosh, Dean, your arm!"

Dean's left arm was in a sling. She'd been so distracted when he'd walked in, she hadn't even noticed it.

He glanced down at his injured arm. "It's just a hairline fracture. Nothin' to worry about." He grinned. "I did get a sweet cast though, if you wanna sign it."

Jennifer frowned as she studied the brothers' scratched-up faces. "Any other injuries I should know about?"

"Nope."

"Nothing but a few scratches," said Sam.

"We were pretty damn lucky."

Memories of the heroic stranger flooded back into Jennifer's mind. She bit her lip. "Well, I, uh, I don't know how much _luck _had to do with it."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked.

She drew in a deep breath. "That guy. The guy that pulled us out of the car before the paramedics got there…"

Dean and Sam exchanged confused looks. Their voices harmonized as they both asked, "What guy?"

"The one in the leather jacket," Jennifer said, eyes wide. "He looked like David Boreanaz."

They just stared at her.

"You didn't see him?"

"No," Dean said, and Sam agreed. "We were both out cold, apparently."

"He got us out of the car." Jennifer gulped. "Actually…he turned the car over."

Dean's brow furrowed. "What?"

"The car flipped during the crash. When I woke up, it was on its side, and I was trapped. I couldn't get out. Then…that guy…appeared…and-and somehow turned it over so I could move."

"What do you mean he 'turned it over'?"

She blinked. "I don't know how he did it. He just…did. And he did it in like, two seconds." She swallowed again. "I think he did it with his bare hands."

Sam and Dean looked at each other.

"You sure it was David Boreanaz he looked like? Not Christopher Reeve?" Dean snarked.

She sighed. "I know how it sounds, but…" She stared down at the coverlet. "I, um…" Slowly, she lifted her eyes to Dean's. "I think he was an angel."

The room fell dreadfully silent.

"Dean," Jennifer said quietly after the long pause, "please don't look at me like that."

"I'm not looking at you like anything." He turned away from her bed and moved across the dingy tile floor.

Jennifer glanced at Sam. "You believe me, don't you?"

The question clearly made Sam uncomfortable. "Well…" he mumbled. He scratched his neck. "Maybe, yeah."

Her eyes shifted to her husband. "Dean, please. The guy came out of nowhere and disappeared all of a sudden. He had enough strength to turn over your car."

"Half the things we hunt could do all that and more," Dean blurted.

"He saved our lives!"

"Well, maybe you were seeing things," Dean suggested. "I mean, you did get conked on the head pretty good. Maybe you dreamed up the guy."

Jennifer's pale complexion flushed a light pink. "I wasn't seeing things. I know I wasn't. He was real."

"Dean, maybe she's right," Sam spoke up.

Dean's eyebrows shot up as he twisted toward his brother. "You really think an _angel _swooped down outta Heaven and pulled us to safety?"

Sam said nothing.

"Even _assuming _that angels are real, it's about to be the friggin' Apocalypse. Don't you think they'd have more important things to do than pulling random people out of wrecked cars? Come on, man. It doesn't make sense." Dean met Jennifer's gaze for a split second. "I'm sorry."

Deflated, Jennifer lowered her eyes to her covers. No one said anything for what seemed like at least half an hour.

"I, uh, I think I'll go check with someone at the nurses' station," Sam said, "and see if I can find out when you can get outta here."

Jennifer glanced up. "Okay. Thanks."

He smiled and nodded. "Be right back."

Sam stepped out of Jennifer's room and hesitated, trying to remember the location of the nearest nurses' desk. He decided to turn left. Just as he did, he spotted a familiar dark figure lurking at the end of the hallway.

It was the stranger he'd seen outside the motel in Arkansas. Outside Cranston Academy. The moment they made eye contact, the stranger pivoted on his heel and took off in the opposite direction.

"Hey!" Sam shouted, running after him.

Surprisingly, the black-leather-jacket-wearing man stopped in his tracks. He twisted around and waited for Sam to reach him.

"I've seen you before," Sam said as he came to his side. He narrowed his eyes at the man. "You've been following us for weeks."

"Months, actually," the young man replied, sounding cocky. "And for that, you should be thankful. I did, after all, just save you and your family."

Sam swallowed hard. He supposed he should have put things together sooner. He hadn't been able to tell before because he'd only seen him from a distance. But up close, the guy _did _look like David Boreanaz. Still, Sam pressed the question, "Why are you following us?"

"Wow. Not a 'thank you' or anything? At the very least, I was hoping for a grateful smile."

"Thank you," Sam huffed. "_Why _have you been following us?"

"Calm down." He rolled his eyes. "Give me a minute." He glanced around the hallway at the passing doctors and nurses. "This isn't the best place for a chat."

He took a few steps down the hall, peering in the open doors of patient rooms. Four doors down, he found an empty one and crossed the threshold. He beckoned Sam to follow.

Once the two men were inside, the stranger closed the door. He sighed loudly. "I've been following you because it's my job."

Sam's eyebrows arched, but he kept quiet. He waited for the man to go on.

The guy's hazel eyes peered into Sam's. Slowly, his lips parted, and in the softest of tones, he said, "I'm an angel, Sam. And I've been sent here because we have work for you."


	78. 2x03, III: Mysterious Stranger

Sam's mouth gaped in surprise. "Wh-_what_?"

A grin stretched the 'angel's' lips. "I know. Not quite what you were expecting, right?" The man glanced down at his black leather jacket and tugged at the lapels. "We ditched the flowing robes and harps centuries ago."

Sam just stared at him, too shocked to speak.

"Anyhoo," the man in black said, "My name's Darion. And I know all about you, Sam." His expression turned somber. "The demon blood running through your veins. The plans Hell has for you. I know you're the chosen one."

Sam gulped. "Then what kind of plans would an…an _angel _have for me?"

"Sam," Darion said, staring into his eyes with compassion. "The road you're on…you can come off of it. It's not too late to change your destiny. I can help you do that."

Darion turned away and began to pace dramatically as he spoke.

"The preacher suicides in Bethsaida, Arkansas," said Darion. "The Cutting Off of the Three Mouthpieces? I'm guessing you know what it signifies."

Sam nodded. "The Apocalypse."

"Yes. But it's more than just a 'sign of the times'." He stopped pacing and looked at Sam. "It's one of the sixty-six seals."

Once again, Sam gulped. "Okay…"

"Haven't heard of them?" Darion asked. When Sam shook his head, Darion took it upon himself to explain. "The best way to understand the sixty-six seals is to think of them as locks on a door." Darion resumed his pacing. "Only instead of a door, the sixty-six seals lock a cage. _Lucifer's _cage."

Sam's eyes widened. "Lucifer? _The Devil_?"

"Yep. The Dark Lord himself. And when the last seal is broken…he pops outta his box." Darion glanced at Sam. "And that is very, very bad news for planet Earth."

Sam didn't know what to say.

"It wasn't a problem until that gate in Wyoming opened. The demons that got out of the pit have been scrambling around trying to break the seals. One demon, in particular."

"Who?"

"Her name is Lilith," said Darion, "and she's made it her personal mission to break the seals and free Lucifer. She's gonna bring on the end of the world if someone doesn't stop her first." He met Sam's eyes. "That's where you come in."

"How?"

"You have to kill her, Sam."

Sam kept listening.

"Lilith is very powerful," Darion informed him, "and very special. She's the only one who can break the final seal. That's why she must be stopped. And only someone like you and your brother have the skills necessary to finish her off."

Darion took a step forward.

"What I'm offering you, Sam, is salvation. Redemption. This is your chance to prove yourself." He turned his head to the side. "To prove you're not the monster the demons want you to be." Darion raised his brows. "And there might be something else in it for you."

"What?"

Smiling slyly, Darion reached into his leather jacket and removed the Colt.

_The Colt._ The antique handgun glistened in the light that shone through the pane of glass in the door. Sam doubted the gun's authenticity at first, but the closer he looked, he saw the pentagram carved into the grip. The Latin inscription- _non timebo mala- _on the barrel. It was, indeed, the demon-killing Colt.

"This is your chance to kill Azazel," Darion told him.

_Azazel? _Sam felt stupid. "Is that- is that his name?"

Darion grinned. "The yellow-eyed demon? Yes."

_Azazel. _It was strange. Sam's entire life, the Winchesters had referred to their nemesis by the color of his eyes. Now he had a name. "He told me he went back to Hell," Sam said.

Darion's forehead crinkled. "And you believed him?"

"Not at first," Sam said. "But it's been over three months now, and he hasn't been back. Not even in my dreams."

"Well, genius, _someone _caused the car accident you were just in."

Sam felt really stupid.

"Azazel's still out there," Darion told him, "and you can kill him, once and for all. If you'll hunt down Lilith, too. With this."

Darion extended the Colt toward Sam.

Sam took it. He thumbed the cylinder release latch and swung the cylinder out from the side of the gun. Checking inside the chambers, he discovered just one remaining bullet. "There's only one bullet left. How am I supposed to kill Azazel _and _Lilith with one bullet?"

"A second weapon will be provided," Darion said.

Sam looked at him warily.

Darion offered a reassuring smile. "You're just gonna have to trust me, Sam. I give you my word."

* * *

When Sam returned from his encounter with Darion the leather-jacket-wearing angel, he found Dean loitering in the hallway outside Jennifer's room.

"What are you doing out here?" Sam asked.

"Looking for you. Where the hell did you go?"

Sam reached for the doorknob. "We need to talk."

"No, not in there," Dean warned, backing away from Jennifer's room. "She's pissed at me over this whole angel deal."

As the two of them headed to Dean's room, Sam wasted no time recapping his conversation with Darion. He'd already given him the majority of the story when they reached the empty patient room.

"So…the guy that rescued us says he's an _angel_?"

"Yes, Dean. An angel."

"I don't know, man," Dean sighed as he paced across the floor. "This guy sounds more like the Fonz than Michael Landon." He shook his head. "And he gave you _the _Colt?"

Sam held the gun up for him to see. Dean took it for closer examination. After turning it over a couple of times in his hands, he released the cylinder, took a peek inside, and found the lone bullet.

"There's only one bullet left," Dean pointed out. "How the hell are you supposed to take out Azazel _and _this Lilith chick with one bullet?"

"Darion said he would provide a second weapon."

Dean made a face. "A second weapon? Kinda vague, don't you think?" He slid the cylinder back into place and handed the Colt to Sam. "I'm not buyin' it."

"Dean-"

"Sam, this bullet's obviously meant for Lilith. There is no second weapon. This guy, whoever he is, he's made you his bitch. He's manipulating you into doing his dirty work, can't you see that?"

"This is an angel we're talking about."

Dean rolled his eyes with a huff. "Right. An angel." He plopped into the worn bedside chair. "This happened before, Sammy. Don't you remember? The last 'angel' we ran into turned out to be the confused ghost of some Catholic priest."

"But this is different."

"How?"

"He knows too much," Sam said. "He knows all about me, about the demon blood, my destiny-"

"And a _demon _couldn't know all that?"

Sam pursed his lips with exasperation. "He gave me the Colt, Dean. Why would a _demon _give me the one thing that could kill it? And on top of that, why would a _demon _want me to kill another more powerful demon who's trying to free Lucifer? Don't you think a _demon _would be rooting for Lilith?"

Dean rubbed the temples of his forehead. "Something's just not right about the whole thing."

"Angels." Sam frowned. "That's what's not right about it. You won't even _try _to believe that they exist."

"Oh, I've tried, Sam," Dean said heatedly. "You've got no idea how much I've tried. I wanna believe there's a good side just as much as you do. As much as Jennifer does. But dammit, it's the freakin' end of the world, and there's not one sign of 'divine intervention'." He blew out some air. "And I'm telling you, some David Boreanaz look-a-like in a leather jacket ain't it."

Sam clenched his jaw.

"The night the gate to Hell opened," Dean said, "the black smoke snatched up the Colt before we could get to it. The demons have had it this whole time."

"Then _why _are they giving it to us now?"

"I don't know, but it's some kinda trap." Dean heaved a sigh. "It's always a trap."


	79. 2x03, IV: Angels

**A/N: **So, I must again apologize for the slowness. Thanks for being patient with me. (And thanks again for all the encouraging reviews!) One very talented reader surprised me this week by creating a sweet cover art for _The Good Fight_, with Rachel Weisz portraying Jennifer. I think it turned out AWESOME! You should totally go check it out on my profile. Thank you, Cricket05!

* * *

_Sioux Falls, South Dakota._

_Three Days Later._

"Hey, Bobby," Sam greeted Bobby Singer with a smile and a handshake as they met in the center of Bobby's salvage yard.

"Sam." Bobby dipped his head. "Dean. Jennifer. Good to see ya."

Jennifer gave him a pleasant smile. "You too, Bobby."

"Yeah," Dean said absently. His eyes stared past the truck-cap-wearing hunter to the object behind him- the Impala.

Bobby twisted around to look at the car. "Well," he said, "there she is."

The group moved solemnly toward it and formed a semi-circle around its crumpled black frame. The right side of the car was mostly unharmed, but the left side had suffered from the impact. The front bumper was smashed to nothing, the doors had caved in, and the windows were gone. It was a sad sight, indeed.

"Thing's sure been through a lot," Bobby sighed, gazing at the vehicle.

"Yeah," Dean said in a melancholy voice. "Sure has."

Bobby's eyes moved from the dented car to the sling over Dean's shoulder. "You kids oughta be grateful for walkin' away in one piece." His eyes widened for emphasis. "_Again_."

Sam nodded.

"You easily coulda been history," Bobby said. "What were you doin', Dean, fiddlin' with the damn radio?"

Dean pressed his lips together defensively. "That truck hit _us, _Bobby. Not the other way around."

"So? You boys need to be more careful."

Dean approached the car and ran his uninjured hand over the twisted doorframe. "Son of a bitch," he muttered to himself.

"Will you be able to fix it?" Jennifer asked.

Dean seemed almost offended. "Of course I can fix it. It'll just take some time."

There was a period of silence as Dean surveyed the damage.

"Well," Bobby finally exhaled. "Go on and lug all your crap in the house and get comfy. From what Sam said on the phone, it sounds like we've gotta lot to catch up on."

* * *

The hunters assembled in Bobby's red-wallpapered library. Bobby plopped down at the desk in front of the fireplace. The Winchesters dragged in three chairs from the dining room table, parked it, and began filling Bobby in on the details of their latest acquaintance- Darion, the alleged angel. But bringing Bobby up to speed soon turned into a heated debate.

"-and I'm telling you, Bobby," Sam was saying, "there was just something about the guy. I couldn't _not _believe him."

Dean huffed. "You were seeing what you wanted to see, Sam."

Sam turned away from Bobby and narrowed his eyes at Dean. "Then how come Darion knows so much about everything? About Azazel? About Lucifer and Lilith and the sixty-six seals? About us?"

"Anybody or anything could know all that by now," said Dean. "A hunter, a demon, a friggin' rugaru. News travels fast."

"He gave me _the Colt, _Dean. What hunter or demon in their right mind would hand over something like that?"

"Right. The Colt. That _one _bullet left doesn't seem a bit suspicious to you, Sammy? And do you really think this dude is gonna give you _another _magical weapon?"

"Haven't you ever heard of faith, Dean?" Jennifer chimed in.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, don't give me that."

"Alright," Bobby interrupted, holding up a hand. "That's enough." The argument came to a stop. "I don't get why you three are gettin' your undies in a bundle over this. An _angel _rescued you. That means we're dealin' with more than just bad guys here. This is _good _news."

"Sure," Dean grunted. "If you're actually believing this crap."

Jennifer shot him a look.

"I don't know, Dean," Bobby said. "There's plenty of lore on angels. Just because you ain't ever seen one don't mean they don't exist."

"Yeah, but if they _are_ real, don't you think that some hunter, somewhere, at some point in time, would have seen one?" Dean asked. "_Ever?_"

Bobby shrugged. "Maybe you three just did."

Dean drew in a deep breath and released it loudly. "Okay. Besides knowing stuff and handing over the Colt, what has this Darion guy done that proves he's an angel?" He glanced at his wife. At Sam. "Huh? He didn't flap his fluffy white wings for you. He didn't go all Roma Downey and start glowin'. How do we know he's the real deal?"

"We don't," Bobby admitted.

Dean snapped his fingers. "Exactly. So give me one good reason why we should believe anything that David Boreanaz look-a-like says."

Sam swallowed and stared at the floor. "I guess there isn't one."

A look of satisfaction settled upon Dean's features.

Jennifer frowned. She couldn't let Dean and his smug expression win this one. "But why would he lie about it?" she asked. She bit her lip. "It doesn't make any sense."

Bobby blew out some air. "When does anything anymore?"

Before anyone else had a chance to speak, the lamp on Bobby's desk flickered.

The four hunters glanced around at each other worriedly.

"What now?" Dean groaned.

Suddenly, the floor rumbled beneath them. The pencil holder on the desk rattled around. Framed paintings on the walls began to shake. On and off blinked the table lamp.

"What's happening?" Jennifer gasped as her eyes darted about the room.

Bobby's vast collection of books vibrated in the bookcases. The pair of sconces above the fireplace buzzed on and off.

Bobby pulled open a desk drawer and removed a handgun. Dean stood, following suit and readying his own pistol. Sam did the same. Jennifer pulled herself up slowly, clinging to her chair for balance.

The lights clicked out.

The earthquake-like rumble came to a halt and the house fell silent.

Dean looked at the others in the darkness. "What the hell?"

Not a second later, the table lamp and wall sconces sprang back to life, filling the library with a yellow glow that revealed a fifth person in the room. A man in a tan trench coat stood in the doorway that connected to the kitchen.

"Who the hell are you?" Dean growled at the stranger, aiming his pistol at him.

The man in the trench coat acted as if he hadn't heard him. He moved toward the four of them.

"Hey, now." Bobby stepped forward slowly, gripping his handgun. He cocked and raised it. "Come any closer and I'll shoot."

The threat didn't faze the man. His eyes were focused straight ahead with intent. He crossed the threshold and moved inside the library, stepping effortlessly over a salt line and a devil's trap hidden beneath the floor rug.

Bobby fired the gun.

A bullet smacked into the man's chest, but the only evidence was the hole in his trench coat. There wasn't a drop of blood. He kept advancing toward the group as though nothing had happened.

The hunters shared shocked and frightened glances.

"Who are you?" Bobby demanded.

Sam walked his fingers to the Colt tucked safely in his waistband.

The man in the trench coat stopped in the center of the library and looked at them, his ice blue eyes staring intensely. His voice was low as he identified himself. "My name is Castiel."

Dean gulped. "_What _are you?"

Castiel turned his head toward Dean. Giving him the same cutting stare, he answered, "I am an angel of the Lord."


	80. 2x03, V: Castiel

**A/N: **Yay! I'm so glad to see you guys were as excited about Castiel's appearance as I was. :) I've been looking forward to his big entrance for a long time. Thanks for R&R!

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Dean was the first to speak to the self-proclaimed angel Castiel. "An angel, huh? You too? What, are you guys having a convention or somethin'?"

Castiel said nothing. He simply gazed at the group and became particularly interested in Jennifer. He studied her intently, never blinking.

His staring made Dean uncomfortable. "Hey," Dean said, cocking his pistol and aiming for the trench-coat-wearing angel's face. "Leave her alone."

Castiel removed his eyes from Jennifer. "Please," he said, turning to Dean. "I mean you no harm."

"Dean," Jennifer breathed, keeping her wide eyes on the angel. She raised her hand to Dean's and pushed it down, lowering the gun to his side.

Dean's brow furrowed at her.

Castiel dipped his head appreciatively at Jennifer. He took two steps forward, placing himself uncomfortably close to Dean. "I came here to warn you," he said in a strangely mesmerizing low voice, "about Darion."

The Winchester brothers shared a brief glance.

"Darion is no angel," said Castiel. "He cannot be trusted."

Sam swallowed. "If he's not an angel, then what is he?"

"A demon."

"How do we know you're not lying?" Dean demanded.

Castiel glanced up at the Great Pentacle painted on the ceiling above him and moved until he was no longer standing within its lines. "A simple dousing of Holy Water will clear things up. Or perhaps one of your salt rounds or a devil's trap like the one on the ceiling. You will find that Darion is vulnerable to each of these." He peered up at the symbol once more. "I, however, am not."

After setting aside his useless gun, Bobby reached inside a desk drawer and discreetly removed a silver switchblade. He watched the angel carefully, waiting for the right moment to strike. The second Castiel turned away to examine a vase on one of the bookcases, Bobby readied the knife, leapt around the desk, and threw himself at the angel. As he felt the blade sink deep into Castiel's flesh, Bobby released its ivory handle and stepped backwards, leaving the knife in the angel's chest.

To the hunters' surprise, Castiel didn't even flinch. He simply reached up, grabbed the knife by the handle, and pulled it out of his chest. "I am also impervious to silver," Castiel said calmly. He held out the switchblade within Bobby's reach.

Frowning, Bobby took it.

Castiel suddenly raised a hand and pressed two fingers to the older hunter's forehead. Bobby's eyes rolled back into his head as his legs buckled beneath him.

Jennifer gasped. "Bobby!"

The brothers watched in horror as Bobby collapsed against the hardwood floor.

"What the hell did you do to him?" Dean shouted.

"I am sorry," said Castiel, staring down at Bobby's motionless body. "But he'll be fine." He glanced up at the Winchesters. "We need to talk."

Dean scoffed. "Then by all means, start talkin'!"

Castiel turned away from the group and admired one of Bobby's framed landscape paintings. Eyeing the artwork with fascination, he said, "I trust that by now you've heard about the sixty-six seals."

"Yeah," Sam said. "The locks to Lucifer's cage."

"An excellent alliteration," said Castiel. "I assume Darion has also told you about Lilith, the demon who is breaking the seals."

Sam nodded.

"Then by now, he has most likely instructed you to kill her, offering you the Colt for Azazel as leverage."

"Yeah, actually."

Castiel's icy blue eyes dropped to the floor. "Stopping Lilith from breaking the seals is important. But...she cannot be killed."

"Uh…why not?" Dean asked.

The angel quieted his voice a bit. "She just can't."

"A little vague on the details, aren't we?" Dean sneered.

"That is because I don't know the details," Castiel confessed. "I only know that Lilith must be stopped, but kept alive. And _that _is all you need to know."

"No, actually, it isn't," Dean argued. "A demon wants us to _kill _a demon. An angel wants us _not _to kill it. Don't make much sense, pal."

Despite his snarky way of putting it, Dean made a good point. Jennifer opened her mouth to join in the conversation, but her voice came out hoarse. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Why would your side, the good side, you know...Heaven...want Lilith to stay alive?" she asked the angel.

Castiel's rigid expression softened a tiny bit as he turned to her. "I speak the truth when I say I do not know the details." His eyes glanced- almost nervously- around the room. "I should not be telling you this much."

"Why?" snarled Dean. "What are you keeping from us?"

Ignoring Dean, Castiel looked at Sam. "You need to know that Darion gave you the Colt for the sole purpose of killing _Lilith_. There is no 'second weapon' for Azazel. Darion is only using you for the demons' benefit."

Dean shot his brother an I-told-you-so look.

Before Sam could protest, Castiel said, "At the present, killing Azazel is impossible. He went back to Hell after you refused to lead his army."

"But that's ridiculous," said Sam. "Why would Azazel leave now? He threatened to hurt Dean if I didn't join him, then that car accident happened-"

"And your brother remains unscathed," Castiel pointed out. "You are thinking Azazel had something to do with the crash." The angel tilted his head to the left thoughtfully. "If Azazel had wanted to kill your brother, Dean would be dead."

No one disagreed with that.

"But...why is he letting me off easy?" Sam wanted to know. "Azazel has been after me for the past two years to lead his army, and now, suddenly, when everything escalates, he makes an empty threat? And-and vanishes?"

"It appears that way, yes."

"Well, why?"

"I do not know."

Dean grunted with frustration. "For some almighty heavenly being, you sure don't know jack squat."

"Dean," Jennifer scolded him.

"Well, he doesn't!"

Castiel responded by giving Dean the fiercest stare yet. The angel took another intimidating step toward him, placing them only a few uncomfortable inches apart. "I _do _know one thing," Castiel said, sounding fearfully powerful. "Darion pulled the three of you out of the wreckage for a reason."

Unable to tolerate the physical closeness, Dean stepped back. "Why would a _demon _save us?"

Castiel moved closer still. "Because they have plans for you." He was standing so close, Dean could feel Castiel's breath on his face. "_All _of you."

Dean gulped. "What the hell kind of plans?"

Looking somewhat ashamed, Castiel replied, "I don't know for certain."

"Of course you don't."

"It is imperative that you listen to me, Dean, for you are all in grave danger." If it was possible, Castiel's piercing gaze grew harsher. "Despite his threats, Azazel won't lay a finger on any of you. He didn't cause the car crash," the angel said, "but _someone _did."

"Who?" Jennifer inquired.

Castiel broke his gaze and lowered his eyes to the floor again. "I am afraid the crash was overseen by a member of the heavenly garrison."

Sam stared at him in disbelief. "Are you saying an _angel _tried to kill us?"

"I am saying a war is at hand between Heaven and Hell," Castiel said, "and the three of you are at the center of it."


	81. 2x04, I: Baradiel

**A/N: **Thanks everyone for continuing to read and submit your kind reviews! I'm pretty excited about posting this story. It contains a bit of payoff... So stick around as secrets are revealed! ;) And please, please review! Thanks again! **  
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**"The Hand That Rocks the Cradle"**

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_Sioux Falls, South Dakota._

_One night later._

A silver crescent moon hovered low above Singer Salvage Yard, casting long shadows amidst the towers of crumpled cars piled atop each other. In between these piles of wreckage stood Castiel.

The angel was alone in the quiet darkness, staring vigilantly at the outline of Bobby Singer's home. All lights had gone out in the place hours ago. The four hunters within its walls were tucked safely in bed. Still Castiel watched, looking over the house like a highly devoted security guard working the graveyard shift.

The sound of fluttering wings broke the silence.

Castiel acted as if he had heard nothing. He kept his eyes fixed on the Singer residence.

"You know why I'm here, Castiel," said a soft voice.

Calmly, Castiel turned his head toward the thin black man who had just appeared at his left. The man wore a loose, almost baggy brown suit with a wrinkled white shirt and a crooked beige tie. Despite his slim build and messy attire, the man had an imposing presence.

"Baradiel," said Castiel, "you don't look well."

The angel called Baradiel took in a deep breath and released it. "Don't suppose I do, what with all the delirium going on down here. First it was our sister Elisha's unfortunate attempt to slay the Winchesters. Now it's you disobeying orders and interfering with destiny. _Again_." He pursed his lips. "Evidently your trip home after the incident with Alma Bane didn't make enough of an impact on you. You came right back and committed the same offense."

Castiel shifted his eyes to the front of Bobby's house.

"What has happened to you, Castiel?" Baradiel's dark face showed true concern. "This rebellion is not like you. You have grown too sentimental over these humans, and I fear it has impaired your judgment."

Castiel's jaw stiffened slightly as he stared ahead.

"You should not have told the Winchesters that Lilith cannot die," Baradiel said. "Nor should you have told them of Hell's plans for them. That was a serious defiance of your orders."

"I am aware of my orders," Castiel replied sharply. "I am to guard and protect the Winchesters."

"Yes. _Guard and protect_. You are not a messenger, Castiel. Why must you continue to take it upon yourself to let these people in on the plans of Heaven and Hell?"

"They know very little."

Baradiel frowned. "They know enough. More than enough."

"You do not know the Winchesters as I do," Castiel said fiercely, turning to face him. "I have watched them for years. I have seen the evil that Dean and Sam have annihilated, the host of humans they have saved. I have witnessed Jennifer's devout faith. I have seen the years she has spent honoring our Father, studying His Word, and obeying His commandments."

Baradiel's face softened a bit.

"The destiny that awaits them is one they do not deserve," Castiel said gravely. "I can no longer stand by silently and watch it unfold."

A moment passed before Baradiel gave his soft response, "But you know such things must come to pass in time."

"I do," said Castiel. "But perhaps _now _isn't the _right _time."

There was another pause.

"I'm sorry, my brother," Baradiel finally said, his worn face showing signs of genuine regret, "but you and I are in no position to determine that." He swallowed. "And that is why I must send you home once more."

He raised a hand to Castiel's forehead. As their skin met, the two of them disappeared into nothing.


	82. 2x04, II: Sorting Things Out

_The next day._

Jennifer stood before the mirror in Bobby Singer's hall bathroom, lifting the hem of her loose-fitting gray sweater just enough to bare her midsection. For the third time, she glanced over her shoulder to double check the lock on the door. Confident of her privacy, she returned her gaze to her reflection and examined her abdomen.

It had been almost a week since the doctor in New Hampshire had told her about the baby she was supposedly carrying, and she was just as unaccustomed to the idea now as she'd been at the start of the week. Of course, she hadn't exactly had time to think about it with all the angels, demons posing as angels, and dire revelations at hand.

But now, taking advantage of a moment alone to contemplate things, she stared at her belly. It looked no rounder than usual, she thought. She shifted to the left for a sideways view. From this angle, her middle did appear a bit thicker, but she quickly deduced that the extra girth was more likely due to the increased number of French fries, Little Debbies, and Diet Dr. Peppers she'd been consuming lately. She tended to go on eating binges during stressful times, and the approaching Apocalypse certainly fell into that category.

No, she decided. She did not look pregnant.

The doctor in New Hampshire must have somehow gotten things mixed up, Jennifer told herself as she let her sweater fall back into place. She didn't look pregnant, she didn't feel pregnant…she just _couldn't _be pregnant.

She leaned on the sink and closed her eyes.

Since she was old enough to play with baby dolls, Jennifer had imagined having a child of her own. She'd always wanted at least two. Boys or girls, she didn't really care. Maybe one of each. When she was thirteen, she made her first list of favorite baby names with William for a boy and Lily for a girl at the top. She had dreamed of how happy she would be when she learned she was pregnant for the first time. She'd thought of the phone calls she'd make to her mother and Alanna, the baby showers her loved ones would throw for her, the adorable little decorations she'd choose for her nursery- the joy of it all.

The fact that she felt nothing over the doctor's news- no joy, no real emotion of any kind- told her she couldn't be pregnant. Not now. It wasn't right.

Still, she needed to be sure. She'd have to sneak around and get tested.

Jennifer wasn't entirely sure why she felt the need to be sneaky about it. Keeping Dean in the dark didn't seem like the wisest choice. She already felt sickly guilty about it, and she was well aware that he'd be ticked if he knew of her secrecy. On the other hand, if she received a negative pregnancy test, she'd hate herself for bothering him with a false alarm when there were so many larger problems to deal with.

After taking one more quick look in the mirror at her abdomen, she drew in a deep breath, flushed the toilet and turned on the sink for sound effects, and opened the door. She could immediately hear the men's raised voices arguing about what Castiel had told them.

"There you are," Bobby said as she entered the library where the three of them were gathered. "We thought you'd fell in."

"And you didn't check on me?" She took the empty chair next to Sam. Nodding toward the brothers, she said, "They had a case one time involving a girl that got sucked down a toilet."

Bobby's forehead wrinkled with disbelief.

"It's true," Sam sighed wearily.

"_Anyway_," Dean cut in, looking ready to kill someone. "This was already too damn much. The Apocalypse. Angels. Demons _pretending to be_ angels-"

"The Devil," Sam reminded him.

"Yeah." Dean sucked in a deep breath. "The Devil. And what kind of plans would the demons have for _all _of us? We know Sam's supposed to lead Azazel's stupid army, but what the hell would they want with Jennifer and me? Huh?" He stopped to breathe. "I mean, there's always a chance- a big, _big _chance- this Castiel guy was lying-"

Jennifer's eyebrows arched. "You _can't _be serious. After everything you saw him do, you don't believe him?"

Dean didn't answer.

"You _have _to believe him. You just don't want to."

"Insightful."

She rolled her eyes.

"Dean, when you think about it, it fits," Sam said cautiously. "Her premonitions, her dreams, the way she can find things just by concentrating on them…she _must_ have those abilities for a reason." He turned to Jennifer. "We wondered why you weren't one of the psychic children. It just makes sense that your abilities are connected to whatever plans Castiel was talking about."

"Fine. Okay. But what about me?" Dean demanded. "I don't have any psychic superpowers. How the hell do I figure into that plan?"

No one had an answer.

"I don't know," Jennifer finally said. "I don't know. But gosh, Dean, whatever plans Hell has for us, it's so bad that angels want us dead!"

"Maybe. Although technically, Castiel didn't come out and say it. He said he '_was afraid' _it was an angel," Dean told her. "If you ask me, he doesn't know who the hell caused the crash. He was probably just pulling crap out of his lily-white ass to keep from looking like an ignorant dick."

Jennifer's brow furrowed with disapproval. "Dean."

"What?"

"Is it really necessary to talk like that?"

"You're kidding, right?"

Bobby sighed loudly. "Would you two quit?"

The couple turned away from each other.

"The clock's tickin'," Bobby reminded them. "You'd better save your energy for figurin' out what our next move is."

"Right. Anybody got any ideas?" Dean snarled.

"I think we should go after Lilith," Sam spoke up.

The others stared at him.

"Despite their differences, both Castiel and Darion agree that Lilith should be stopped," Sam told them. "I think we should concentrate on finding her."

"Yeah, okay," said Dean. "Great. How do you suggest we do that?"

Sam opened his mouth to suggest something, but Dean wouldn't let him.

"Omens are popping up everywhere, because all those demons that slipped outta the gate are gettin' around," Dean said. "We've got no clue where Lilith is. Hell, we don't even know if Lilith is _real_."

Jennifer and Sam exchanged annoyed glances.

Dean noticed. "Well, we don't. All we know is what we've been told, and look at our sources. A David Boreanaz look-a-like who obviously lies and a weirdo in a trench coat."

"You mean Castiel, an _angel_," Jennifer said hotly, "who you just refuse to believe."

Bobby jumped in fast before another argument could begin. "At this point, it don't really matter who's lying," he said. "We know for a fact the Apocalypse is coming. We know for a fact that the seals on Lucifer's cage are breaking-"

"No-"

"I did my research, Dean. There's lots o' lore to back it up," Bobby informed him. "Now, somebody's breakin' those seals. Whether it's this Lilith demon or not, we can't be sure, but for now, that's our best bet."

"Then you're saying we should try to find her," Dean said.

"I'm saying we ain't got time to sit around arguing religion."

Silence fell upon the room briefly as they considered this.

"Okay," Dean sighed. His voice was calmer as he said, "Say we find Lilith. What do we do then? We can't gank her. The Colt's only got one bullet left, and it's got Azazel's name all over it. Plus Castiel said we have to 'stop her, but not kill her'. How are we supposed to do that?"

Sam shrugged his broad shoulders. "I don't know, an exorcism?"

"But isn't Lilith supposed to be some head honcho demon? Who knows if a standard exorcism's gonna do the trick?" Dean shook his head. "We can't risk it. We can't just walk in there without a sure-fire plan. And apparently, our little angel floated back to Gloryland before he shared one with us."

The others were once again annoyed by his sarcasm, but they couldn't argue with the truth of his statement.

"Well," Sam exhaled, "Azazel went back to Hell for some reason, so he's off limits for now." He thought for a moment. "You know, maybe that's _why _he went back. He knows we have the Colt."

"Could be," Bobby said.

"Sounds about right," Dean agreed. "Smart move on his part. If he'd stayed topside, we'd have damn sure forgotten about Lilith and iced his ass."

Though she didn't nag him about it this time, Jennifer frowned again at her husband's overuse of profanity. "So," she said, "what can we do?"

"Well if the angels really are trying to waste us, we should probably do something about that," Dean told her.

"You wanna hunt _angels_?" Sam scoffed.

Dean shrugged.

Sam nearly laughed. "How?"

"Yeah, Dean," Bobby said, looking slightly amused. "How?"

Jennifer, too, waited for a response.

"I don't know," he admitted. "But maybe we can figure something out. Bobby, Sam, surely one of you can dig us up a ritual or an incantation to ward off angels."

Bobby shook his head. "I've seen a lotta rituals, Dean, and I ain't never seen anything like what you're talking about."

"That doesn't mean there's not something out there. We'll look harder," Dean said. "And for now, we'll just watch our backs. More so than usual." He swallowed. "What about this Darion guy?"

"What about him?" asked Bobby, sounding grumpier by the minute.

"He's clearly up to no good and he's M.I.A.," Dean pointed out. "And despite his serious load of bullcrap, he knows stuff. Important stuff. Maybe we should go after him. Or even better, summon him here."

"You just said he knows stuff," Jennifer said. "What if he turns out to be more powerful than the average demon?"

Dean looked as though it pained him to answer. "If this Castiel guy was telling the truth- which is a big if- we know Darion is vulnerable to salt, Devil's Traps, and Holy Water."

A faint smile brightened Sam's features. "Alright then. Guess we have a summoning ritual to get ready for."


	83. 2x04, III: The Ritual

Sam knelt in the floor of Bobby's library, chalk in hand as he finished drawing the sigil for the demon-summoning ritual. At each corner of the triangular symbol he placed a red pillar candle; in the center he set a round black bowl filled with everything from ground acacia to oil of Abramelin.

Bobby double-checked the lines of the Devil's Trap on the ceiling. Dean touched up the one on the floor that was normally concealed by an area rug. Jennifer kept watch on the exterior doors and windows.

At last, Sam set the piece of chalk aside and wiped the white residue from his fingertips. He glanced up at the others. "Ready?"

Bobby nodded.

Everyone gathered around Sam as he struck up a match, lit the three candles, and began reciting the Latin incantation from memory. "_Phasmatis ego precor vos. Exorior obscurum vidor pro mihi._" Sam dropped the lit matchstick into the bowl; a great golden spark shot up like a geyser. "_Ego dico sicco vobis_. _Adveho pro nos iam._"

Sam backed away from the sigil and stood to his feet.

The hunters stared at each other anxiously as they waited.

Within seconds, a voice indicated a fifth presence: "What, you didn't think _prayer _would get me here this time?"

They turned to find Darion, dressed in the usual black leather jacket and jeans, leaning against the wall that bordered the kitchen.

"Hello, Bobby and Winchesters." A big grin spread across Darion's handsome features. "Looks like you've been doing some research."

Sam swallowed hard. "Looks like you lied to me about being an angel."

"Oh, no. I didn't lie, Sam," Darion replied. "I just omitted the 'fallen' part." His grin widened. "Silly me, I thought you wouldn't trust a demon. Who knew you wouldn't trust an angel either?"

"Well, some of us smell shady from a mile away," Dean snarled.

"Yes, Dean, you are quite perceptive." Darion shoved his hands into his pockets and stepped forward. "If it hadn't been for you, this whole thing coulda worked. It's a real shame my dad needs you."

Jennifer took a step back.

Bobby followed suit.

"Your dad?" Sam asked the demon.

"Yep. We run a family business too. As a matter of fact, I think you've met a couple of my siblings," Darion said, moving closer. "Do the names Duane Tanner and Meg Masters ring any bells?"

The names were immediately recognizable. Duane Tanner- a guy Sam had seen in a vision being killed by Dean; his family had been infected with the Croatoan virus. Meg Masters- the blonde girl who had followed Sam from California to Chicago to Bobby's place, all the while possessed by a demon. Both Dean and Sam backed up.

Darion walked toward them. "And you know my dad. _Of course _you know him." His eyes narrowed as he stared at Sam. "He killed your mother. Your girlfriend." He glanced at Dean. "Your daddy." He smiled. "Good ol' John. We demons have got a real soft spot for him now."

"Oh, yeah?" asked Dean. "Why's that?"

Cryptically, Darion just laughed. He took another step toward the hunters that, unfortunately for him, placed him directly below the Devil's Trap on the ceiling. He looked at Jennifer and smiled. "And you, sweetheart, I think you were quite fond of my dad's latest kill. Alma Bane?"

Jennifer's heart skipped at the sound of her mother's name. Tears glistened her eyes before she could stop them.

Dean glowered at the demon. "Why don't you stop talking and take a look at where you're standing?"

Darion followed Dean's suggestion. He looked up. As his eyes fell upon the Devil's Trap, he bit his lip. Sighed loudly. "Should have seen that one coming."

Dean shrugged mockingly.

Bobby grabbed a nearby armchair and slid it behind Darion, slamming it into the back of the demon's knees. "Get comfy," Bobby said. Set off balance, Darion fell backwards into the seat.

Sam passed Bobby one of two pieces of rope they had soaked in saltwater.

"I saved your lives and this is how you repay me?" Darion asked.

Sam ignored him as he took the remaining piece of rope and tied Darion's left hand to the chair's armrest while Bobby bound his right.

Darion grunted with pain as they restrained him. As the salt affected him, his eyes flashed black. He twisted his face toward Jennifer. "My dad didn't _want _to kill Alma. He always liked her."

She gasped as she peered into the eerie black hollows beneath his forehead. "What?"

"Yeah. That's right. Your mom, my dad. They go way back."

Jennifer gulped. "What are you talking about?"

Slowly, Darion's black eyes changed back into the hazel ones belonging to his vessel. His lips curled into an unsettling smile. "You really don't know, do you?"

"Know what?" Sam cut in.

"What happened twenty-four years ago," Darion went on, "between Alma and Azazel?"

Upon receiving blank stares, Darion burst into demonic laughter.

"That fat God-fearing bitch made a deal with a demon!"

Dean's face flushed with rage. "You're lying!"

Darion simply snickered as he turned to Jennifer. "Did your mom ever tell you what a hard time she had conceiving your sorry ass?"

Jennifer didn't respond.

"Twenty-four years ago, your sweet mommy made a very special trip to the gyno," Darion said. "She was two months preggers for the _fourth _time and having problems, just like she'd had with all the other pregnancies before that one. Anywho, she went to the doc, got things checked out, and wouldja believe it? They couldn't find a heartbeat. The kid was already dead." He cackled with amusement. "Guess the bitch's junk was broken. Shoulda asked for a refund."

"Shut up!" Jennifer screamed.

"Oh, no. I think you'll wanna hear where this is going. Trust me, it'll really fill in some blanks for you." Darion grinned. "So Alma Bane had just learned that she'd miscarried for the _fourth_ time. There she was, sitting alone in her car in the doctor's office parking lot, crying her miserable little peepers out in desperation. What'd she do next?" His eyebrows shot up. "She prayed. She bowed her fat head and begged the man upstairs to please-_please _send her a miracle!"

"Stop!"

Darion ignored Jennifer's cry. "Seconds after her pathetic prayer, somebody tapped on Alma's car window. Enter Azazel, starring as a kind stranger. He appeared at her carside and told her the baby inside her would live- if she would do him a favor in return one year later."

She shook her head. "No!"

"Alma didn't hesitate to oblige. She made the promise and _BAM!_ The dead fetus in her belly jumped to life, and seven months later, _you _were born." Darion sat up straight in his chair. "The funniest thing about it- Alma thought Azazel was an angel sent there by God as an answer to her prayer!" He roared with laughter. "Oh, and even funnier- when I pulled _you _out of that car crash, Jennifer, you thought the same thing about me! You're just as stupid as your mother!"

"Shut your damn mouth before I send you straight back to Hell!" Dean shouted.

"But Dean, I'm not finished. I'm just getting to the good part." Darion eyed Jennifer once more. "Don't you wanna hear about the favor your mom had to do for my dad?"

Jennifer reached out for Dean. Clutched his arm.

"Exactly one year later, when you were just an itty-bitty, six-month-old bundle of joy, Pops snuck into your nursery, came to your crib, and dropped a healthy serving of his own blood into your pretty little mouth."

She whimpered softly.

"He was out the door before anyone could find him. Your parents were asleep the whole time. They never had a clue." Darion turned to Dean and Sam. "Unlike _your _mother. Fortunately for Alma, she was a heavier sleeper than Mary. Anywho, the years went by, Alma forgot about the 'angel's favor. And you grew up with special psychic powers."

"Why?" she cried. "What plans does Azazel have for me? For Dean?"

"Whoa, now. Can't give _that _one away. My dad would have my head for that."

Dean's forehead wrinkled. "Do we look like we care about your head?"

"I'm not telling you anything."

"Right," said Sam, reaching into his jacket. He extracted a flask filled with Holy Water, unscrewed the lid, and gave Darion a generous sprinkle.

The water sizzled on Darion's body as he jerked and twitched, writhing in pain. But after a few moments, he got his bearings. "That's not gonna make me talk," he told them, panting for air. "I'm a faithful son. I'd never disown him like that."

"Well then," Sam said, "why don't you go join him?" He didn't have to look up an exorcism ritual in one of Bobby's books. Sam jumped right into one from memory. "_Regna terrae, cantate Deo, psallite Domino…_"

Darion's head jerked backwards, then forwards. His body squirmed in the chair. His fists balled up as he tried to escape from the ropes that held him. "John Winchester started all of this!" Darion bellowed, his voice much more guttural voice than before. "He broke the first seal!"

Sam paused the ritual, surprised by this information.

"Yes! We really owe it to your daddy. Dear ol' Papa Winchester." Darion's black eyes seemed darker than ever, yet they glowed with a rabid excitement. "You must know where John went when he sold his soul for you, Dean."

Dean gulped, diverting his gaze to the floor.

"They tortured him down there," Darion said, grinning. "Peeled the skin from his bones, piece by piece. They poked. They prodded. Sliced and diced."

Jennifer clung tighter to Dean's arm. Her touch seemed to invigorate him.

"Sam!" he shouted at his brother. "Keep goin'!"

Sam tried, but Darion's voice grew louder. "They ripped John apart constantly, never stopping, never easing up, until the end of each day. That's when they gave him a choice. They'd stop torturing him if he'd start torturing other souls."

"Sam," Bobby said forcefully, "finish the ritual."

Sam swallowed. Cleared his throat. "_Qui fertis super caelum, caeli ad Orientem_-"

Darion's back twisted unnaturally as his head jerked to the left. "John Winchester finally broke!" he managed to yell. He gasped for breath. His voice became stronger. "It took nearly a hundred years in Hell, but finally, John gave in. He hopped down off that rack, picked up a razor, and started hacking away!" He released a maniacal laugh. "The great John Winchester turned into the very thing he spent his life hunting! And it broke the first seal!"

"That's not true!" Dean argued.

Darion bared his teeth as he hissed, "It is written, 'the first seal shall be broken when a righteous man sheds blood in Hell. As he breaks, so shall it break.'"

The hunters stood in stunned silence.

Darion smiled with pride. "When Lucifer walks free, when he wins the final war, we'll owe it all to John Winchester."

An overwhelming sense of urgency filled Sam as he gaped at the demon's smile. He didn't hesitate to finish the exorcism. He sent Darion back to Hell as quickly as he could.


	84. 2x04, IV: Last Meal

**A/N: **Thanks _so _much for the great reviews, guys! I was so excited to hear what you all thought about that last chapter. :)

* * *

In the three hours that followed the exorcism, no one spoke. Not one word was exchanged among the hunters as they cleaned up the mess in Bobby's library and got Darion's vessel, a philosophy student from Tennessee, to safety. No one knew what to say, so they said nothing.

As dusk approached, Jennifer ended the quiet with a random announcement. "I'd like to cook supper," she told everyone, making sure that her eyes didn't meet anyone else's.

A long moment of surprised silence followed.

"Fried chicken," she went on, "greens beans, creamed corn, and homemade mashed potatoes." She glanced quickly at her husband. "And pie."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

She nodded.

"I know things are looking grim," Dean said, "but jeez, are you thinking it's our last meal?"

"No," she said, frowning. "I just feel like cooking. And gosh, we could all certainly use a home cooked meal."

"Oh, I'm not arguing," Dean clarified fast. "I think I'm speaking for all of us when I say Spam's getting old."

No one said anything, but Sam's nose wrinkled slightly.

Bobby shrugged his shoulders.

Jennifer looked at the trucker-cap-wearing hunter. "I'll need to pick up a few things at the grocery store. Is there a car I could borrow?"

Before Bobby could respond, Dean cut in. "You're going by yourself?"

"Well…yeah."

"No."

"I'm twenty-four. I think I can manage."

"Yeah, but it's a risk-"

"Dean, it's a trip to the grocery store."

"Angels want us dead," Dean reminded her. "Lilith-"

"I want to go alone."

"Jennifer-"

"Dean," Sam interrupted crossly, "just drop it, okay? She just wants to be by herself for a while." The expression on his face showed that he understood where Jennifer was coming from all too well. "She'll be fine."

Jennifer tossed her brother-in-law a look of gratefulness to which he responded with a small nod.

Dean sighed. Considering the information she'd just received from Darion about her background and her mother, he decided to take Sam's advice and let it go. Jennifer needed to get out of the house, away from hunting for a little while. She needed to be alone to process things. "Yeah, okay. I'm sorry."

Bobby pulled a key ring from a wooden wall hanger and extended it toward Jennifer. "Here. You can take that old Pontiac station wagon out front."

She half-smiled as she took the key from him. "Thanks." She grabbed her purse from its resting place on the back of a nearby armchair and headed toward the door. "I'll be back in a little while."

Dean followed. "Hey."

She turned to face him.

He held out his ivory-gripped Colt handgun for her to take. "Be careful, okay?"

She took the gun hesitantly. "I will."

He kissed her before she went out the door.

* * *

Half an hour later, Jennifer was pushing a cart down the baking aisle inside Flanagan's Grocery, trying to keep her mind on the ingredients she needed for an apple pie. Instead, her thoughts kept drifting to the one item that wasn't on her shopping list, the _real _reason she had made this trip solo, the one thing she couldn't seem to make herself get. She'd already walked past the feminine products twice without stopping to look at the pregnancy tests.

She chided herself for acting so cowardly about the whole thing. Actually, she was beginning to feel rather stupid. It was just a little piece of plastic. Women bought them all the time. It wasn't a big deal.

Except that it was.

She selected the cheapest container of nutmeg from a shelf, placed it in her cart next to the brown sugar, and proceeded forward, determined this time to actually stop and look at the pregnancy tests.

After dawdling around a bit, she once again found herself at the feminine section. She felt her pulse quicken as she slowed the cart to a stop. She cast a couple of furtive glances over each shoulder and scanned the shelves before her as quickly as she could. Within seconds, she grabbed one of the more affordable brands and placed it her buggy beneath the sack of potatoes where it was hidden from view.

* * *

Sam closed the front door behind him as he stepped out into the cold December afternoon. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and made his way across the salvage yard to where the wrecked Impala sat, looking just as pathetic as it had the last time he'd seen it.

This time, however, two denim-covered legs and a pair of brown work boots stuck out from underneath the left side of the vehicle. An open toolbox and a cordless radio playing Def Leppard's "Photograph" weren't far away.

Sam tried to walk loudly across the dirt so as to not startle his brother. "It's freezing out here, man," he said as he reached the car side.

"Don't care," came Dean's muffled voice.

"Well, you should. Really, Dean, you should come inside-"

Dean rolled out from under the Impala, lying flat on a wooden dolly, holding some tool Sam didn't know the name of. He tossed the mystery gadget into the toolbox and stared up at Sam, looking annoyed. "Somehow, hypothermia doesn't seem like our biggest threat at the moment."

Sam sighed. "Then you should at least be concerned about your arm. "

Dean glanced down at his left arm, which was still in a sling, then back up at his brother. "I gotta work on the car, Sam. We can't hide out at Bobby's forever. The sooner it's up and runnin', we can get back to work."

"And what would that work consist of, exactly? Yellow Eyes is downstairs, Darion just joined him, Lilith's off-limits, and we're _not _hunting angels."

Dean grabbed some kind of wrench from the toolbox. "Somebody's gotta stop those seals from breaking."

Sam exhaled loudly. "But how? We don't even know what or where the seals are. What do you wanna do, just follow Lilith around?"

Dean shrugged.

"That's a stupid idea."

"Well, we can't count on your or Jennifer's psychic powers to tell us what to do."

Sam frowned.

Dean blew out some air and tossed the wrench back into the toolbox.

Neither of them moved or spoke for what seemed like minutes.

Then, in a very soft, very reluctant voice, Sam asked, "Do you think Darion was telling the truth? About Dad…breaking the first seal?"

Dean leaned against the Impala. His eyes unfocused as he gazed ahead. "I don't know."

Sam nodded. "Darion lied about a lot of things. But…I'm not so sure he was lying then."

Dean gulped.

"I think what he said about Jennifer and her mom was true," Sam said, looking at the ground. "It makes sense."

Dean's face tensed, but he didn't respond.

"If Dad really did…" Sam said, "he didn't know what he was doing." He swallowed hard. "Anybody would have taken that deal."

Sam glanced at his brother and felt something inside him deflate as he recognized guilt in his eyes. John was in Hell because he'd traded his life for Dean's, and though he'd tried to move past it a couple of years ago, it was once again all Dean could think about.

Knowing there was nothing else to say, Sam drew in a deep breath. "I think it's gonna snow soon. You should get as much work done as you can."

With that, he backed away from his brother and the broken remains of his car and went back into the house.

* * *

Sam entered the kitchen just as Jennifer dropped the first hand-breaded chicken breast into an iron skillet full of hot oil. The sizzling noise that resulted was much louder and fiercer than Jennifer had expected.

"Crap!" she exclaimed.

Instead of reaching into the fridge for a beer as planned, Sam glanced at Jennifer and saw that she was being attacked by splattering, scalding grease as she frantically attempted to turn the burner heat down.

"Crap, crap, crap," she muttered to herself as she removed the chicken from the skillet. The piece of poultry was raw on one side, burnt on the other. She tossed it in the trash can with a huff. "Dang it."

Sam made a sympathetic face. "Need some help?"

She looked up at him, startled. She hadn't noticed his presence in the midst of her fried chicken failure. "Um…well…"

The pot on the back eye of the stove- which held boiling potatoes- made an ominous hissing noise. Suddenly, its lid lifted and tilted sideways, releasing a bubbling, starchy foam that rose over the sides of the pot and spilled onto the stovetop.

"Dang it!"

Sam found a towel fast.

Jennifer sighed heavily as she twisted a knob on the stove. Eventually, the contents of the pot settled to a safely contained boil. "I keep forgetting to turn the heat down. On everything."

"Here," said Sam gently, making his way to the stove with a holey plaid hand towel. Jennifer stepped aside as he wiped away the foamy mess.

She wiped her forehead with the rolled-up sleeve of her sweater. "Thank you, Sam."

He gave her a warm smile. "Don't mention it."

It was then that he noticed just how flustered she looked. Her clothing held a light dusting of flour. Her hair, which she had pulled into a ponytail, was frizzled and somewhat poofy from the heat of the cook top and the rising steam from the pot of boiling potatoes. But most of all, it was her expression of panic, the look of someone who was completely overwhelmed, that contributed to her ruffled appearance.

He had a feeling it wasn't only her cooking disaster that had overwhelmed her.

"You look like you could use a hand," he told her.

She made a noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a grunt. Her eyes traveled from Sam's face to the stove at least three times before she agreed. "Have you ever breaded chicken before?"

Sam began rolling up the sleeves of his navy striped button-down. "Nope." He moved across the kitchen to the sink, where he turned on the tap and pumped a generous amount of liquid soap into his palm. "But I'm willing to give it a try."

When he returned from the sink with clean hands, he joined Jennifer at the countertop next to the stove and she began giving him instructions. "Okay. Take the chicken, dip it in this pan first-"

"What's that, milk?"

"Yes. Evaporated milk. Um, dip it in the milk, then dip it in this flour mixture here. Then once it's good and covered, put it in the skillet and I'll take it from there."

"Okay." Sam grabbed a raw chicken breast and followed her instructions, looking a bit awkward as he dipped and dunked. "Is this right?"

"Yeah, that's perfect." She managed a smile. "You're a regular Emeril."

He grinned as he lifted the battered chicken from the flour. "Ha. Right." At her nod, he placed the chicken into the frying pan. This time, the sizzle was a pleasant one. "Bam!"

Jennifer giggled at his Emeril impersonation. The laughter immediately relaxed her. "I really appreciate your help." She grabbed a set of tongs from a round tin utensil holder on the counter. "I think I would have burned everything without you. I just, um, I can't seem to focus."

Sam was quiet as he moved a second piece of chicken from the milk to the flour. He waited for her to continue. When after a good minute she did not, he knew it was up to him to break the uncomfortable silence.

"What Darion said," Sam began softly, "about the demon blood…" He dropped the chicken into the skillet. "I, uh, I know how you're feeling."

She looked away, focusing her gaze on the frying chicken. She used the tongs to flip one piece. To her satisfaction, the underside was already turning a lovely shade of gold.

"It doesn't change who you are," he said. He was sounding emotional. Passionate. Almost angry. "Just because you have this…this bad thing inside you…it doesn't mean anything. You're still a good person. You still make the right choices, you still save people."

Jennifer remained silent as she flipped the other chicken breast.

"Whatever plans Azazel has for you, whatever destiny he wants for you…none of it matters," Sam said. "The only thing that matters is what you choose to do."

Though she kept her opinion to herself, Jennifer highly suspected that Sam was just recycling some spill Dean had once given him. She despised herself for feeling so cynical about it when she knew Sam was only trying to comfort her, but she couldn't help it. Of course Sam really did know how she felt, more than anyone could know. But her situation was different.

Or at least it might be. If she really was pregnant, then her situation was quite different from Sam's. She'd been wondering about it from the start. Would her child inherit her contaminated blood?

She didn't want to think about it, especially since there was a great chance she _wasn't _pregnant. But ever since Darion had revealed her history, she couldn't push the thought from her mind.

She was on the verge of making this known to Sam. She could trust him. She knew that. He had the same tainted blood, so the thought of his own possible future children's fate had probably crossed his mind at some point or another.

Her heart was suddenly pounding. A voice in her head begged her repeatedly to ask him about it. He would understand. He would think nothing of the question. He wouldn't go blabbing to Dean about it.

"Sam?" It was out before she could stop it.

He turned his head to give her his full attention.

She glanced away. "Um, do you think this…the demon blood…do you think it can be passed on? You know, from one generation to the, uh, to the next?"

Her heartbeat doubled as she mustered up her courage and lifted her eyes back to his. It was obvious that the question had taken him by surprise.

"I, uh…I don't know."

Jennifer stared at him, watching as his eyes, hazel eyes so much like Dean's, narrowed and studied her. She looked away fast.

"I don't know," he repeated.

The room went silent. Except for the sounds of sizzling.

"Crap," Jennifer gasped, all of a sudden remembering the reason they were standing at the stove. "The chicken."


	85. 2x04, V: The Test

**A/N: **Hey, thanks so much for all your reviews. My week's been a pretty crappy one and hearing such nice things from you all has been really uplifting. Thank you again! I hope to keep hearing from you.

* * *

_Two Days Later._

Jennifer stood alone in the spare room she and Dean were sharing at Bobby's, eyeing her red duffel bag with anxiety. Inside the bag, buried beneath layers of neatly folded clothes, rested a little pink box that contained the answer she was so desperate _not _to know.

Buying the home pregnancy test had only been half of the challenge. She had to actually take it, which she had already delayed for two days.

But she couldn't keep holding off. She needed to go ahead and do it. She needed to know if that doctor in New Hampshire had been right.

Now. No more waiting. No more stalling.

Her hands trembled a bit as she fumbled clumsily with her bag's zipper. She drew in a deep breath and forced herself to dig around through the shirts and sweaters, until at last, the box was within her grasp.

She removed it from the bag. Stared at it. Re-read the directions label for what must have been at least the tenth time.

Jennifer sighed. This was it. Dean was outside working on the Impala. Bobby and Sam were busy in the library. This was her chance.

She gulped. Squeezing the box, she practically ran into the adjacent bathroom.

* * *

Some time later, a grease-covered Dean pushed open the door to their bedroom and closed it behind him, not noticing until he was inside just how dark the wood paneling made the room. He flipped on the light and jumped.

Jennifer was sitting on the bed.

"Crap," he breathed. "Why do you do that? Sittin' around in the dark? It's creepy."

She didn't move. She didn't even look at him.

He stood at the foot of the bed and studied her for a second. Her body was rigid. Her eyes were vacant, staring at nothing. The only other time he'd seen her like this was after the death of her parents. Suddenly worried, Dean asked, "You okay?"

She blinked.

With growing concern, Dean moved closer to her. "Hey," he said softly. "What's wrong?"

"Go in the bathroom," she mumbled, keeping her eyes away from his.

The bathroom light was on, he noticed. His forehead wrinkled as he cautiously followed her instructions. He glanced around the restroom and found nothing out of the ordinary. Everything was just as he'd last seen it.

Except for a little pink box by the sink. And a plastic stick beside it.

Dean felt his breath catch in his throat as he went for a closer look. "Is this…is this a pregnancy test?"

He received no reply.

Dean turned and looked at her through the doorway. Confusion filled his voice as he asked, "Did you think you were pregnant?"

She remained quiet, but for the first time, her eyes met his.

Something in her gaze caused his insides to clench. He twisted back around toward the sink and gaped at the pregnancy test. The screen on the stick showed two little lines. His pulse quickened as he compared it with the information on the box.

_One line - not pregnant. Two lines = pregnant._

Dean rechecked the screen and found, again, two lines. "Oh, God."

He lifted his eyes to the mirror above the sink and found that Jennifer was now standing behind him. Her eyes were watery. The expression on her face was almost apologetic. He didn't dare turn around.

Neither of them spoke for what seemed like hours.

"Dean," she finally whispered to his back, "please say something."

"What do you want me to say?" he snapped.

She swallowed hard.

He leaned against the sink. "I, uh…" He stood upright. "I need some air." Dean pushed his way out of the bathroom and hurried across the bedroom.

Jennifer turned to follow him. "Dean-"

He pretended not to hear her as he continued across the room and out the door. He plowed down the hallway, through the kitchen, and nearly knocked Sam down as he headed for the front door.

"Dean?" Sam asked, picking up on his brother's upset state. "What's going on?"

Dean ignored him as he jerked open the front door and stepped outside, slamming the door behind him. Two seconds later, Sam burst out after him.

"Dean!"

Dean kept moving. Where he was going, he didn't know. He just needed to get away.

Sam broke into a sprint to catch up with him. As he came to his side, he asked, "Where are you going? What's going on?"

Dean trudged on through the salvage yard, weaving his way around piles of twisted metal.

"Dean. Talk to me, man."

All of a sudden, Dean slowed to a halt beside a rusty El Camino that was missing its tires. Sam stopped a few feet behind him, careful to give him some space. Dean twisted to face him.

"She's pregnant," he said.

Sam's eyes widened. "Jennifer?"

Dean didn't bother giving the obvious answer. He ran his fingers through his hair. "We've been together four months, Sammy. Four damn months! And…_this?_"

Sam didn't know what to say.

"Dammit, Sam, we can't bring a kid into _this_!"

"Well…maybe you should have considered that _before-_"

"Dude. Don't even. We played it safe all the freakin' time, man. Seriously. _All _the time."

Sam scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Well, apparently…one slipped past the goalie…"

Dean glared at him. "Ya think?"

Sam said nothing.

"This-this isn't gonna work! How is this supposed to work?" Dean began pacing. "We can't haul a baby around on the road with us. Hell, we can't haul a pregnant woman around on the road with us, hunting demons-"

"Okay, Dean, just calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down. We're talking about _us_…hunting demons with a baby! That sounds like a friggin' sitcom! Or-or some crap comedy flick with Vin Diesel and The Rock!"

Sam heaved a sigh. "Look, we'll figure something out, okay? It'll work out."

Dean shook his head as he paced the dirt. "I shoulda thought of this. We never should have…" He trailed off.

"What?"

Dean looked him in the eye. "We never should have gotten married."

"You don't mean that."

"Yeah, I do. We were stupid. We were just…caught up in the moment. It happened, literally, overnight. We weren't thinking." Dean rubbed his forehead. "This never should have happened."

Sam was quiet for a moment as he chose his response carefully. "Well, it did. And whatever you're thinking…you can't just bail on her. She needs you now more than ever."

Dean chewed on his bottom lip.

"And Dean, we both know this is something you've always wanted."

Dean gulped. Stared off into space for a while. "Yeah, well, not the best timing. It's the damn Apocalypse."

"Just forget about it for a second," Sam urged him. "Forget the Apocalypse, forget hunting." He paused. "Everything else aside, this is a special moment for you, Dean." A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "You're gonna be a dad."


	86. 2x05, I: Bonfire

**A/N: **Hello! Time for a new story. I'll try to post the next chapter faster than usual since this one's so short and introductory-ish. As always, thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews you've been submitting! They really mean a lot!**  
**

* * *

**"The Devil and Me"**

* * *

_Langston College,_

_Continville, Virginia._

A hush fell over the campus of Langston College every semester just before final exams. The usually noisy cafeteria went quiet as students scarfed down their lunches in solitude while reviewing their class notes. The recreational center was abandoned as students flocked to the library. Even on the weekends, the campus appeared deserted because the residents locked themselves inside their dorms with mountains of studying to do.

But this semester, things were different.

It was the middle of the week before finals and fifteen minutes past midnight when a few members of the speech and debate club lit up an impromptu bonfire in the center of the quad.

An hour later, half the campus residents had joined the hoopla. With Lil' Wayne blaring from a stolen P.A. system, the twenty-somethings turned the gathering into a wild rave. The students who should have been in their residence halls working on their term papers were bumping and grinding in the firelight, chugging obscene amounts of alcohol, and making out with anyone in a five-foot radius.

Twenty-year-old undergrads Ashlee James and Tyler Hayden were especially involved in the latter. Ashlee's scantily clad body wrapped around Tyler's like a vine as they tongue wrestled by the enormous fire. In any other setting, the shameless pair most likely would have been charged with public indecency.

"Mmm, Tyler," Ashlee moaned into his neck as she broke the lip lock for a moment. She peered into his eyes with lustful excitement as she began peeling off his t-shirt.

He eagerly raised his arms to ease the process.

"I want you so, _so _bad," she said to him, her eyes glittering in the fire's orange glow.

"Whoo!" shouted a nearby member of the Baptist Student Union who was dropping it like it was hot next to a shapely young blonde _and _evidently watching Ashlee and Tyler's open display of affection. "Ashlee James wants you man! You better hit it while ya can, bro!"

Tyler laughed, yanked Ashlee closer to him, and picked up where they'd left off.

Just then, a female cry interrupted their fun. "Get away from him!"

Ashlee James glanced to her right to discover her raven-haired friend, Bridget Murray, looking beyond upset. She could immediately detect Bridget's anger, but it was an odd, suppressed kind of anger. Something darker than ordinary anger, something like rage about to blow out of control, glinted malevolently in her coal-colored eyes.

"Ashlee," Bridget began, "_what _is with you? Leave Tyler alone!"

"Why? You broke up with him, remember? He's fair game now." Ashlee smiled slyly as she turned back to Tyler and kissed him.

"I said get away from him!" Bridget yelled.

"Ooooh!" cooed the obnoxious Baptist Student Union guy.

Bridget wasn't inhibited by her audience. "Get away from Tyler, you slut!"

Ashlee's eyes widened with surprise then quickly narrowed in defense. She moved closer to Tyler. "Excuse me?"

"Get away from him," Bridget screamed madly, "you slut!"

A handgun appeared in Bridget's right hand so fast no one could tell where it had come from.

"_You back-stabbing slut!_"

Bridget fired two shots into Ashlee's chest.

Tyler's jaw dropped as he watched Ashlee hit the ground. He stared dumbly at Bridget.

The party kept going. Lil' Wayne had muffled the gunshots. Only a few drunks standing close by had witnessed the shooting, and they were too disconnected from reality to comprehend what had just happened.

Tyler gulped. "What-what did you-"

"I love you, Tyler!" Bridget cried. Tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her tan face. "I've loved you since the day we met. In Mrs. Frasier's math class. Remember? You sat in front of me and we-"

Tyler Hayden glanced down at the blood seeping from Ashlee's motionless body, then back up at Bridget. "You're-you're insane! You're crazy!"

"No, no, Tyler-"

"You're crazy! Get the hell away from me, you-you _freak_!" Bridget flinched at his words.

For a second, she simply stared at Tyler, looking as though _she'd _been shot. Then she tightened her grip on the gun and aimed it at Tyler. She squeezed the trigger. Twice.

Again, the shots were drowned out by the music, but more partiers had seen what had happened.

Before anyone could intervene, Bridget lifted the gun to her chin and pulled the trigger a fifth time.


	87. 2x05, II: Off to College

_Sioux Falls, South Dakota._

_Four Days Later._

Bright yellow sunlight streamed through the ruffled plaid curtains hanging over the kitchen window and warmed Jennifer's whole body as she stood at the stove, turning over sizzling slices of bacon in one of Bobby's iron skillets. On such a chilly December morning, the warmth was more than welcome.

She had risen early to cook a hearty breakfast of pancakes, bacon, and eggs for everyone. Dean, who had gotten up earlier than usual to work on the Impala, had been her motivation. He was already outside with the automobile and his tools, and she was hoping her thoughtful act would help ease the tension between them.

Since he'd learned of her pregnancy, Dean had basically given her the silent treatment. It was his annoying, immature, and incredibly frustrating way of dealing, and she knew it. So for the past four days, she'd let it go. The thought of a baby was a lot for any of them to stomach, and she knew it was especially so for Dean. Eventually, he would accept it, he'd start talking again, and things would get back to normal.

At least that's what Jennifer kept telling herself.

She cut off the stove eye and walked away. She left the kitchen, grabbed her gray zippered hoodie from the coat rack by the front door, and slipped it on before heading outside. She breathed in the cold, crisp air deeply and enjoyed the rays of the sun as she moved across the salvage yard toward the Impala.

Dean's cordless radio was turned up extra loud this morning, she noticed, and the angry sounds of Metallica issuing from it didn't seem to be a good sign.

He wasn't hidden beneath the car this time. He was kneeling at the left door, working on the handle. He glanced up at Jennifer when he heard her coming and returned to his work without acknowledging her.

She suddenly felt nervous. "Hey," she greeted him, mustering up her best smile as she came to his side.

He didn't look up.

"I made breakfast for you," she said sweetly. "Pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon."

Dean jerked whatever wrench he was using on the handle extra tight. "Not hungry."

She bit her lip, forcing herself to keep her composure. "I don't believe that."

"I had some of Bobby's Honey Bunches of Oats," he growled at her.

Jennifer sighed. "Come on, Dean. That means your stomach's rumbling." She paused. "Why don't you take a little break and have some real breakfast?"

He tossed his wrench into his open toolbox, giving her the false hope that he was taking her advice. Instead, he reached into the toolbox for a different wrench and resumed his tinkering.

She stood there watching him, waiting for him to say something. Do something. Anything. But he kept fiddling with the Impala's stupid door handle, acting as though he was alone. Jennifer could feel her emotions rising. Her mounting frustration was nearing an explosion. She gave him a few more seconds before she let him have it. "Gosh, Dean, could you at least _look _at me?"

Very slowly, he eased back onto his haunches, set the wrench aside, and peered up at her.

"Why are you treating me like this?" she cried. "I know you're scared; I'm scared. We weren't ready for this. At all. The timing is all wrong. Everything about this feels wrong."

He glanced away.

"But Dean," she said, demanding his attention, "you're acting like this baby is _my _fault!" She paused to steady her trembling voice. "And it's not!"

He stayed still.

She raised a shaking hand to her forehead and pressed it against her skull. "Dammit, Dean, you can't act like this right now!"

Dean was visibly startled. He'd _never _heard her use profanity. Ever. In all their time together, in all their scary, grim, and downright sucky situations, not once had he heard her let one curse word slip. He gulped. She was really, _really _upset.

She covered her face with her hands and cried.

He dropped his wrench. Pushed himself up from the ground and stood beside her. Gently, he took her into his arms and held her as she wept into his grease-covered shirt. His chest grew heavy with emotion as she squeezed him. She'd never clung to him so tightly. "I'm sorry," he whispered. He pulled her closer. "I'm sorry, Jennifer."

They embraced for a few moments, then Jennifer let go and pulled away from him.

"I shouldn't have reacted the way I did," he said. "I was an ass, I know, I was just-"

She swallowed hard. "You were just scared."

"Yeah," he breathed. "And I still am."

She wiped the tears from her cheeks. "I am too. I don't know how this is gonna work, how we can keep doing what we do. And I keep wondering if this baby will-"

"Hey," Dean cut in. He stepped closer and wrapped his hands around her elbows. "We'll figure it out, okay?"

She gave a shaky nod. "Okay."

Smiling weakly, she lifted herself onto her tiptoes and kissed him. He fervidly reciprocated by drawing her body forcefully against his.

When their lips parted at last, Jennifer was surprised to see tears in his eyes.

"So," he said, still holding her close. His lips curved into a smile. "We're really gonna have a baby."

She smiled back. "Yeah. We are."

His smile morphed into a happy grin as he gazed into her eyes. "I love you."

"I love you too."

"And you were right."

"About what?"

"Honey Bunches of Oats didn't cut it. I'm starving."

* * *

After a pleasant breakfast, Dean resumed his work on the Impala. Jennifer stayed at the kitchen table with Sam and Bobby, sipping coffee and poring over national headlines.

"Have either of you found anything interesting?" she asked as she set aside an unhelpful newspaper.

Sam sighed. "Well, there's some heavy electrical storms in Lincoln. Might be a sign of demonic presence…might just be storms."

"I might have somethin'," Bobby spoke up, folding his newspaper and setting it down on the tabletop.

Jennifer and Sam looked at him.

"Four days ago, a college student blew away two of her friends before turnin' the gun on herself," Bobby told them. "Not two weeks before that, the vice president of the same college shot an' killed the dean of the history department."

Jennifer grimaced.

"Coincidence?" Sam queried. "A couple of psychos on rampage?"

"Could be," Bobby agreed.

"Or maybe not," Jennifer said. "Where'd this happen?"

"Uh…" Bobby had to think for a second. "Some fancy Christian college in a town called…Continville, Virginia."

The color visibly drained from Jennifer's face. "What?" she gasped, jumping from her seat. She leaned across Sam to grab the newspaper. Once she had the paper in her hands, she gasped again at the headline:

_Three killed in murder-suicide at Langston College._

Sam's mind filled in the blanks. "Your sister," he said. "She goes to Langston, doesn't she?"

Jennifer was too busy reading the article to respond, but he knew the answer. Her younger sister Jessica was studying registered nursing there. She'd received a full ride based on her impressively high ACT scores.

An even louder gasp came from Jennifer. "Bridget Murray! Oh, my gosh, she's Jessica's roommate!" She forced herself to swallow. "She was the shooter! Oh, my gosh…"

Bobby and Sam watched, stunned, as she struggled to catch her breath. Her face was growing paler by the second, her eyes wider.

"Bridget is from Antioch," she informed them. "She graduated high school with my sister…they both got scholarships to Langston…" She shook her head repeatedly. "My gosh, how did this happen?"

"You knew her?" Sam asked.

Jennifer nodded. "Yes! She practically grew up with Jessica. They were best friends." Her voice began returning to a normal speed. "Bridget was so smart…and sweet. I haven't talked to her in a couple of years but…she…she would never…"

Sam glanced at Bobby, who returned his look.

"We need to go there," Sam told Jennifer in a tone that held no room for questions. "It sounds like a job. And even if it isn't one, you should be there for your sister."

Her initial instinct of being the protective older sister faded into nervousness at Sam's statement. She hadn't spoken to Jessica in three years. She didn't even call when their parents died. Jessica didn't know where Jennifer was, didn't know she'd given up journalism to hunt demons, didn't know she was married to Dean Winchester, and she certainly didn't know she was almost three months pregnant with his kid. Jessica had no clue that Azazel had killed their parents. She didn't know about the deal Alma had made or the demon blood than ran through Jennifer's veins.

The idea of seeing someone she was once so close to after _so _much had happened frightened Jennifer more than the newspaper's headlines. She knew she had to go to Langston College, she knew she needed to check on her sister, but the mere thought of it got her stomach to churning.

She inhaled deeply and scooted her chair away from the table. "I'll go tell Dean."

* * *

_The next morning._

Dean guided the burgundy 1991 Chevrolet Caprice Classic they had borrowed from Bobby past the Langston College welcome sign into the parking lot of Abbott Hall, one of two women's residence halls. Dean found the parking spot closest to the entrance and groaned as he steered the wide vehicle into it. He gave an exaggerated grunt as he shifted the gear stick into park.

"This is ridiculous," he complained while shutting off the engine. He pocketed the key and fumbled around to find the door handle. "I hate this piece of crap." He exited the car. Slammed the door behind him.

Jennifer and Sam met him at the front bumper.

Dean peered over his shoulder at the outdated, oversized ride. His lip curled. "I feel like somebody's friggin' granny." He looked at his brother. "I've gotta fix the Impala. Fast."

Sam didn't argue.

Dean turned to Jennifer and immediately noticed the lack of color in her face. "Uh…are you okay?" he asked uncomfortably. "You look like you're gonna puke."

She gulped. "I feel like it too."

"Is it…uh…" Dean stammered, "morning sickness?"

"No." She gulped again. "I just…I don't know if I can do this."

"Sure you can."

"Dean. I haven't seen her in three years."

"It's okay," he assured her. "I was in the same boat when I went to get _him _at Stanford," he bobbed his head toward Sam, "back when Dad went missing. It'd been a while, stuff had happened, but we were still brothers, you know? It all worked out. And Jessica's still your sister."

If it was possible, Jennifer's face grew paler. "But it's different. She doesn't know…about anything…" Her voice faltered. "What in the world do I tell her?"

"Don't worry about that right now," Sam told her.

"Yeah, you're great at improv," Dean said. "Wing it."

Her features tensed as she stared at him.

"Come on." He took her hand and led her down the sidewalk.

As they approached the three-story, red brick, colonial style edifice, Jennifer cast nervous glances left and right, unconsciously keeping an eye out for her sister. She didn't see Jessica, but she did notice a few other characters. She didn't bother stifling a judgmental frown as they walked by a young female student sprawled out on a beach towel. Half a dozen empty beer cans surrounded her semiconscious body, and her right hand grasped a half-full Miller longneck. A few couples also dotted the lawn, getting more than friendly in the dewy grass.

"Ah, college," Dean breathed sentimentally, eyeing the lovers as he passed them. "Dunno why I never gave it a try."

"Probably had something to do with your ACT score," Sam mumbled.

Dean didn't hear him. He pulled open one of the glass double doors and allowed Sam and Jennifer to go ahead of him.

On the way inside, Jennifer noticed several flyers posted around the place advertising twenty-one and over shows, on-campus bikini mud-wrestling competitions, and keg parties. Three years ago, those same walls had been covered with posters for girls' volleyball games, club fundraisers, and student Bible studies.

She hadn't visited Langston College in a while, but the atmosphere had changed drastically.

Down the hallway, up the stairs, and down another hallway the Winchesters went. Sam stopped in front of room two-twenty-seven. "I think this is it."

Jennifer's pulse quickened. "Yeah. It is."

The group stared at the closed door.

"Well," Dean sighed, "there's not a tie on the doorknob. That's a good sign."

The three exchanged uncomfortable glances.

"Ready?" Dean asked Jennifer.

"No."

He knocked anyway.

The girl who answered the door could have been a model.

She was a good five inches taller than Jennifer, at least thirty pounds lighter. Her features were well-defined, her lips plump, her cheekbones high, and her jaw chiseled. Her long black hair fell in a perfectly flat-ironed sheath around her shoulders. With her beige ruffled silk blouse, black skinny jeans, stylish gray ankle boots, and loads of bangle accessories, she looked straight off Tyra's runway.

If it hadn't been for her eyes, neither Sam nor Dean would have guessed the girl before them was Jessica Bane. Her gray-blue eyes were so much like Jennifer's it was startling.

"Yes?" Jessica asked the brothers.

Dean stepped aside to unblock Jennifer from her view.

Jessica's lips separated in a gasp. Her face turned as pale as her older sister's.

Jennifer's whole body quivered as she stepped forward. She tried her best to smile but was sure her expression looked more painful than welcoming. "Hey, Jessica."


	88. 2x05, III: Family Reunion

Sam, Dean, and Jennifer sat side by side on one of the two twin beds in the small dorm room, feeling nervous as they watched Jessica take a seat on the bed across from them, the one that was clearly _her _bed.

Two different styles of décor split the room down the center, proving the room had been shared. Jessica's side of the room was as stylish as she was. A sophisticated black and white floral duvet cover cloaked her bed. Enlarged black and white photographs of Paris donned her walls. A twelve-inch iron Eiffel tower decorated her nightstand.

Bridget Murray's side of the room was the opposite. Bright stripes and polka dots, a beaded lamp, a fuzzy multicolored rug. The vivid pinks, oranges, and yellows that composed her summery décor reminded Jennifer of Bridget's warm personality, and she remembered immediately why they were here.

"We, uh, well, we read about what happened last week," Jennifer began softly. "With Bridget."

Jessica glared at her fiercely.

"I…I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"_Really_?" Jessica's sarcasm was obvious.

Jennifer struggled to swallow. "Yeah, I mean…she was your best friend. Your roommate. What she did…it doesn't make any sense."

Jessica's harsh gaze shifted to the vase of daisies on Bridget's nightstand.

No one said anything for a painfully long time.

"Um…" Jennifer cleared her throat. "Did you notice any changes in Bridget before-"

Jessica suddenly released a derisive little laugh. "Of course," she spat. "_That's _why you show up out of the blue, why you actually _dare _bring _them _here."

Dean and Sam flinched a bit at the way she said '_them'_. They were reminded of how Alma had spoken about them during their last visit to Antioch.

"You're not checking on me," Jessica went on. "This whole thing with Bridget is just another case, right?"

Jennifer's mouth opened, but no sound came out.

"So you're Dean and Sam," Jessica said, turning to the men. She eyed Dean brutally. "I'm guessing _you're _Dean."

He wasn't sure how to react. He managed a half-smile. "How'd you know?"

Jessica shrugged. "Just look like Jennifer's type."

"…She has a type?"

"What is it you _really _do, Dean? Since you're obviously not a preacher." She looked at Jennifer. "Isn't that what you told Momma? That he was a preacher?"

Jennifer bit her lip.

"Yeah, she told me about you," Jessica continued hotly. "About all those things she overheard you saying after Dustin died. The stuff about running from cops. Credit card scams. _Lying_. All that about demons…" Her eyes widened. "Something about Sam killing someone named Ava-"

"We can explain," Sam cut in.

"I'm sure you can. You think you're some kind of heroes, right? Saving people from…from monsters?" Jessica stopped for a second. "I heard about what happened at Cheaha. With Jay's little brother, Tanner. From what I've heard, everyone back home keeps talking about how you saved him and that girl, Mackenzie Bryant, from some monster in a cave. Jay and Brian have practically started a fan club for you."

Dean looked slightly impressed.

"But I-" Jessica's voice broke. She glanced away quickly. Took a deep breath and spoke to Jennifer without looking at her. "Okay, listen. I don't know how you got involved with all this crap…why you abandoned your journalism career for it…I don't know. But if that's what you want to do, fine."

Silence.

"What I just don't get…is…" Jessica trailed off. She inhaled deeply once more and looked at her sister. Her eyes shone with tears. Her jaw trembled. "Where the heck were you when our parents died?"

Jennifer felt her own eyes watering up. She couldn't look at her.

"I know you were home when it happened. You were in Antioch to chaperone a trip with the freaking youth group. Mr. Holloway, the fireman? He said you were there when our house was on fire!" Jessica cried. "So _where_ were you at our parents' funeral?"

As much as she fought it, Jennifer lost. Big tears forced their way out and gushed down her cheeks. Her throat clenched so tightly she could barely breathe.

"I had to handle everything by myself!" Jessica shouted. "All the arrangements, the burial, everything, all the while knowing you'd skipped town! You ran off with two strange men you barely knew and didn't bother to call me, or anyone, just to let us know where you were going, wherever it was that was more important than your own parents funeral! What's wrong with you? Where were you? Where did you go? Where _were _you?"

"She was in Wyoming," Dean spoke up defensively, "trying to waste the son of a bitch that killed your parents."

* * *

The Winchesters spent over an hour telling Jessica things they had decided months ago to keep from her. The truth about the fire, the yellow-eyed demon, and parts of what had happened in Wyoming. Jennifer had moved to the other bed to sit with her sister, whom she now had an arm around.

"So…all that stuff," Jessica said. "It was true." She leaned to grab a tissue from the Kleenex box on her nightstand. "All those rumors about Trevor Bradley's death last year…the symbol that was on his carpet." She dabbed her wet eyes with the tissue. "The way his heart just…stopped."

"That's actually why we came to Antioch in the first place," Sam told her. "We heard about Trevor's death from a friend of ours."

Jessica sniffled and glanced at Jennifer. "So, how'd you guys meet each other?"

Jennifer couldn't help but smile as she remembered nearly being run over by the Impala in the New Hope parking lot. For a second, she was back on the church pew, watching as two handsome visitors asked to sit with her. "They were at church the Sunday morning after Trevor's funeral." Her brow furrowed slightly as something occurred to her for the first time. She turned to Dean. "What were you doing there?"

Sam and Dean shared a look.

"Uh…" Dean went blank.

"We were there to talk to Trevor's friends," Sam recalled. "We heard he spent most of his time at church, so that's where we went. And then we ran into you."

Jennifer smiled. "And then you _kept _running into me."

"Yeah," Dean said. "For like a whole friggin' year."

"So, we eventually decided to team up," Jennifer recapped.

Jessica shook her head. "But…why? I mean, no offense, but I just can't see _you _doing all this badass stuff you're talking about."

Jennifer laughed.

"What happened to journalism? You'd just gotten a degree and everything."

Jennifer swallowed as she thought up an answer. She _couldn't _tell Jessica her main motivation, the psychic powers she'd received from Azazel's blood. That was one bombshell too many. "I, uh," she stammered. "I guess some people are just destined to do certain things."

Both Sam and Dean looked at her. Her eyes shifted to the mini Eiffel tower on the nightstand.

"Anyway," she said, squeezing Jessica's waist, "here we are. Hunting monsters. Saving people." She shrugged. "Much more fulfilling than writing obituaries for _The Antioch Beacon_."

That seemed to satisfy Jessica enough. She wiped her eyes with her tissue once again and sighed. "So. You came here when you heard about Bridget."

"That's right," Dean spoke up.

Jessica's posture relaxed. "You were trying to ask if I'd noticed any changes in her. I did." She fiddled with the wadded up Kleenex. "You know how open and friendly Bridget always was."

Jennifer nodded.

"Two days before…the shooting, she stopped talking. She didn't come back here at night, she wouldn't answer my phone calls. I ran into her in the cafeteria, and she had this…this weird glazed over look in her eyes." Jessica gulped. "I spoke to her, but it was like she couldn't hear me. She was, like, in a trance or something."

"Did you ever see any black smoke?" Sam queried. "Maybe smell something like rotten eggs?"

Jessica tried unsuccessfully to hide a look of bewilderment. "No. Why, do you think she was…possessed?"

"Maybe," Sam replied.

"Do you know anything about what happened with the vice president and the dean of the history department?" Jennifer asked her.

"It was pretty much the same situation. Dr. Rice, the vice president, shot the dean over a game of poker."

"_Poker?" _Dean repeated.

"Yeah." She started to say something else, then stopped. She cleared her throat. "I don't know if you could tell when you got here, but…Langston's different."

This sparked Jennifer's interest. "I _could _tell. What have you noticed?"

Jessica huffed. "The whole place has gone crazy. It's the week of finals, and everybody's partying. The speech club hosted that drunken bonfire on the quad where the shooting happened. Yesterday, there was a guy was passing out drugs in the cafeteria. One guy was _doing _drugs in the bookstore-"

"It's a college campus," Dean interrupted. "Drinking, drugs…isn't that what college is all about?

Jessica looked offended. "_Not _at this college. That's why I came here. It's not a party school. It's quiet. Everyone's focus is academics," she said, then pretentiously added, "We've got one of the highest GPA averages in the country."

Dean had nothing to say.

"And besides that," Jennifer said, "it's a very strict Christian school."

"Yeah, well, not anymore. A group of students sprayed graffiti all over the chapel, and the Bible classes basically stopped meeting. The student religious groups only get together to party…" Jessica trailed off. "Like I said, the whole place has gone crazy."

"Sounds like it," Sam commented. "When did this all start?"

"Um…back at the beginning of the semester. About four months ago."

Right after the Devil's Gate was opened.

"It was only little changes at first," Jessica said, "but as you can see, it's getting worse."

"Something's definitely going on," Jennifer told her.

Silence filled the room.

"So. What do you guys do now?" Jessica wanted to know. "What's the next step in your…investigation or whatever?"

"We figure out what we're up against," Dean said. "Talk to people, do research. The boring stuff."

"I can help you talk to people," she offered. "What if we meet up for dinner tonight and see what we've come up with?"

Jennifer was surprised by Jessica's willingness. "Um…okay," she said hesitantly. "Yeah. That sounds great."

"Okay. I've got an exam in a little bit, but-"

"Oh, gosh," Jennifer apologized, standing up. "I'm so sorry. We didn't even think about that. It's finals week. You must be swamped-"

"No, it's fine." Jessica smiled weakly. "I'm really glad to see you."

Jennifer smiled back.

"Alright, well, we'll get out of your way for now," Dean said, getting to his feet. "And we'll meet back up this evening."

"Right." Jessica stood up as Sam did. "How about six o'clock? There's a cool place called The Verve out on the main road."

"Awesome. We'll meet you there," said Dean. He slowly led the way to the door. "Really nice meeting you, Jessica."

Sam agreed with a smile.

"You too," Jessica said. "See you tonight."

As the brothers exited the room, Jennifer fell behind. She turned to face her younger sister once they were alone. "Hey, I, um," she swallowed, "I'm sorry I didn't call you after..." Her voice was trembling. She felt her eyes watering up again and blinked. "I'm just so sorry."

Jessica looked at her in silence.

"I should have called. I know I should have, I just…I couldn't lie to you, and I couldn't tell you the truth...I didn't want you to get mixed up in all this too," Jennifer told her gently. More tears slipped down her face. "I was just trying to look out for you."

Jessica didn't say anything. She just stepped forward, threw her arms around her, and embraced her.

Jennifer cried openly as her sister clung to her. She pulled her closer. "I'm so sorry."


	89. 2x05, IV: The Verve

A/N: Hey, everyone! Hope you've had a good week and are now enjoying the weekend, which was joyfully kicked off with the highly anticipated season six premiere! I'm happy to say I wasn't let down by the episode. Don't wanna spoil it for you if you haven't watched it yet, but I was thrilled over several references to previous seasons _and _the return of long-lost characters as well as **items**. Looks like we're in for an interesting season! (P.S.- Anybody else think that part of Sam's mysterious year hiding from Dean has included DJ-ing part time? What an unexpected way for him to make ends meet.) ;) Anywho, here's the latest of TGF. Can't wait to hear your thoughts!

* * *

_The Verve._

_Six o'clock._

The Verve was a restaurant and art gallery in one. The layout was unique; two large rooms, one for dining and the other for admiring work by local artists, unified by a sleek, modern design scheme. Polished white floors shimmered with pieces of embedded glitter. Glowing white cubes in various sizes composed cool but very uncomfortable tables and chairs. Low track lighting gave the place a slightly eerie, almost sci-fi look, and the acid techno that pulsated from the speakers really set the tone.

It was all a bit too posh for the Winchesters.

The three of them stepped inside and took a look around at the other customers. Women with Prada handbags, Gucci pumps, and martinis. Men in silk ties, cashmere sweaters, and loafers made from Italian leather.

"So," Dean sighed, stuffing his hands into the pockets of the jacket he'd gotten off the clearance rack at a cheap clothing store in Houston five years ago. "Anybody else feelin' like Jed Clampett?"

Jennifer spotted her sister sitting at one of the boxy tables in the back and led the way toward her.

"This is really the kinda places your sister hangs out in?" Dean asked under his breath as they walked.

"Apparently."

"Jeez." He frowned at an orange, fake-baked man sipping an appletini. "You know, the Golden Corral down the street woulda been fine with me."

"Hi, guys!" Jessica greeted them with a wave. She stood up from her seat to hug her sister and show off her sapphire blue belted mini-dress and candy apple red stilettos. "Hope the place wasn't too hard to find. Isn't it great?"

"Yeah," Jennifer said, sinking onto the white cube next to her sister. She eyed the pair of oversized chandelier earrings that dangled from Jessica's ears with envy. "You look so pretty."

She did. Her black hair had been swooped up into an elegant bouffant up-do. Her makeup was perfect; she'd flawlessly recreated the smoky eyes and red lips of classic Hollywood.

Jennifer suddenly felt hideous. She was embarrassed by her own outfit, a faded pair of jeans and a Winchester-inspired flannel button-down, all of which were getting smaller with each new week into her pregnancy. She'd pulled her hair into a messy ponytail, dabbed on some lip gloss and a coat of mascara, slipped into her most comfortable sneakers, and called it a day. Now, as she watched Sam and Dean watch her sister, she wished she'd tried harder with her appearance.

Jessica blushed slightly. "Thank you." She looked away from sister and focused on Sam, who was seated across from her. She smiled.

Sam smiled back. "So, uh, how'd your test go this afternoon?"

"I don't know," Jessica responded, seeming quite happy about his interest in her life. Her smile widened. "I did my best, you know, but I couldn't get you guys out of my head." She glanced down at the tabletop, then back into Sam's eyes.

Jennifer's feelings of inadequacy were quickly overwhelmed by jealous anger. She'd sort of overlooked it after their parents' death, but Jessica always had to do everything _better. _She was a suck up. She'd gone into nursing like her parents had hoped Jennifer would, while Jennifer had majored in journalism. She'd gotten the big scholarship to the fancy private school; Jennifer had paid for her state college education using the money she made at Gene's Restaurant. Jessica wore the most stylish, up-to-date brand names. Jennifer was known to sport thrift store duds. Jessica slept on 800-count Egyptian cotton sheets. Jennifer slept on dingy mattresses in the shadiest of shady motels. Jessica hung out in trendy places like The Verve. Jennifer frequented places like Al's Watering Hole. Jessica looked like a movie star. Jennifer was starting to resemble a frumpy housewife.

And now, Jessica was making eyes at Sam from across the table. And from what she could tell, it wasn't bothering Sam.

"So, Jessica," Jennifer spoke up loudly. "Did you find out anything? You said you'd talk to some people."

Dean looked at his wife, surprised. He immediately picked up on the anger in her voice.

"Oh, yeah," Jessica said. "I talked to Mrs. Burgess. She's the secretary of the president's office, so of course, she knew Dr. Rice, the vice president, well. She said she smelled a sulfur-like odor every time she was around him the week before he killed the dean of the history department."

"Definitely sounds like possession to me," Sam commented.

An attractive blonde waitress approached their table and took their drink orders. Once she was gone, the conversation resumed.

"Anything else?" Jennifer asked.

"There was a fire in one of the guys' dorms this morning. _Supposedly_." Jessica's voice lowered as she gave them the details. "A freshman saw thick, black smoke in the west bathroom, but no one ever found any flames or anything that could have caused it."

"Huh," said Dean. "You know this freshman's name?"

"Josh Kroger. He's in Cobb Hall."

"We'll check him out," Dean said. "_After _we eat. I'm starving." He glanced at the menu for the first time since they'd arrived. Disappointment coursed through him as he found a list of foods he'd never even heard of. He leaned closer to his brother and whispered, "What the hell's 'risotto'?"

"I think it's rice," Sam whispered back.

"_Rice? _Why the hell would _rice _cost twenty-seven dollars?"

"I guess it's really good rice."

"Damn sure better be. What's…'guh-nocky'?"

Sam's forehead wrinkled. "What?"

Dean pointed his index finger to the mystery word on his menu.

"_Gnocchi_?" Sam read, still keeping his voice down. "I don't know, like…potato dumplings or something."

Dean huffed. "Does this place have _anything_ decent?"

"Like the, um, 'maple-mustard suckling pig'?" Sam grinned as he read the dish's name.

Dean's lip curled. "Gross." His eyes suddenly bulged. "And holy crap, the sucky pig is forty-five freakin' dollars."

Sam set his menu down. "I'm not hungry."

Dean peered over the top of his menu at his wife, who was already staring at him. His eyes drifted toward Jessica. She was also watching him. He returned his gaze to Jennifer. "Um…babe?" He smiled nervously. "What are you gonna get?"

"Uh…" Jennifer skimmed over the menu. "Probably the smoked salmon."

"Yeah, that does seem to be the most normal thing on the menu," Dean muttered.

Jennifer turned to her sister. "What are you having?"

"Oh, well, I'm not really that hungry either," Jessica said, still eyeing Sam. "I, um, I was actually thinking that maybe while you and Dean eat," she coyly flipped a stray hair behind her ear, "maybe Sam and I could check out the art gallery."

Dean perked up at this notion. He glanced back and forth from Sam to Jessica, Jessica to Sam, sensing a bit of potential chemistry between them. A sly grin crept across his lips. "Yeah," he said enthusiastically, elbowing Sam. "Sam _loves _art. I'm sure he'd _love _to check out the gallery. You would, wouldn't you, Sammy?"

Sam began fidgeting with his napkin. "Uh, yeah. Yeah. That sounds like fun."

Dean slapped him on the back. "Doesn't it, though?"

Jessica smiled as she scooted away from the table. "Okay, cool. We'll be back in a little while." She patted Jennifer's shoulder as she walked by. "Tell me if the salmon's any good."

Jennifer glared after her sister and her brother-in-law as they disappeared around the corner together. Dean's grin faded when her glare shifted to him.

"What?" he asked.

She folded her arms across her chest. "I can't believe her."

Dean frowned. "Why? What's your problem?"

"She volunteered to 'help' us with this case and planned this whole fancy dinner date just so she could get all dressed up and hit on your brother."

"Well, that's a little…critical, don't you think? She's been through a lot. She just lost her best friend, found out loads of weird crap about you and your parents. Maybe she just needs somebody."

Jennifer's glare remained unchanged.

"_Sam's _been through a lot. He certainly could use somebody." Dean shrugged. "What's wrong with the two of them spendin' a little quality time together?"

She didn't know what to say, so she said nothing and returned her attention to the menu.

Dean did the same. He heaved a sigh as he re-read the list of expensive dishes. "I will say _one _thing. If the only thing she cared about tonight was Sam, she coulda picked a different restaurant."

* * *

Sam kept his hands in his pockets as he and Jessica strolled around the gallery, making small talk as they viewed the various works of art. They stopped in front of a large canvas featuring a simple, abstract design- splatters of red and brown paint on an olive green background.

"I always hate it when people look at abstract art and say things like 'a two-year-old could have painted that blindfolded'," Jessica told Sam as she studied the painting. She glanced at him. "You know?"

He nodded. He could easily imagine Dean saying the exact words that Jessica loathed. "Yeah. It's a shame that some people refuse to be open-minded."

She smiled. "Yeah." Her heels clacked against the glittery floor as she stepped toward the next mounted work. "Like this one. Some people might look at this and just see globs of paint thrown onto a cardboard box."

Which is what it was. A large cardboard box had been showered with different shades of red paint- crimson, burgundy, maroon, the same candy apple red as Jessica's shoes- flecked with golden dots and bright orange streaks.

"But when I look at it," Jessica went on, "I see passion. Heat. Fire."

Sam extracted a hand from his coat pocket and pointed at the title card beneath the painting: _"Her Burning Desire" by Margaret Razo. _He smiled gently. "Looks like that's what you were supposed to see."

She returned the smile and moved along. Instead of stopping to analyze the next painting, she glanced around the room at the other patrons. She turned back to Sam with a slightly mischievous grin. "Wanna see something really cool?"

"Uh, sure."

"They have a private exhibition hall that displays traveling collections," she said, quieting her voice to something close to a whisper. "The upcoming exhibit is Walton Myrick's sunrise collection. It doesn't open until the weekend. But…" Her eyes shimmered with excitement. "It's already set up on the other side of _that _door."

She gestured toward a white windowless door at the back of the gallery.

"What do you say, Sam? Feeling adventurous?" Jessica smiled at him.

He looked around. No one was paying them any attention.

"Come on," she urged him. "Just a quick look." She reached for his hand.

Reluctantly, he took it. "Why not?"

They slipped through the white door and closed it behind them without anyone noticing.

Jessica went in first and flipped on the light.

The room was empty. No paintings. Nothing.

Sam started to say something, but as Jessica twisted to face him, the words faded from his memory. Her gray-blue eyes were totally black.

She smiled. "Gotcha."

* * *

"You're a demon," Sam stammered, gaping at the dark pits beneath her eyebrows.

"Yep." Jessica's evil smile widened. "The Banes _really _have issues."

He groped blindly for the door handle behind him.

"Oh, no, you don't." Jessica's hand shot into the air, palm facing him. She psychically moved him away from the door and slammed him into the nearest wall.

Sam tried to move. His efforts were futile as expected. He was frozen, pinned to the sheet rock. He sucked in a deep breath and started a memorized exorcism. "_Regna terrae, cantate-_"

"Not so fast, Winchester. I'll leave when I'm good and ready," Jessica interrupted. "I just wanna talk to you for a minute. I went through a lot of trouble to get you here for this little chat. Had to waste the dean of the Langston College history department, Jessica Bane's friend Bridget Murray and her two buddies. Not to mention all my _other _work. I'm pretty proud, actually. I flipped this prude little school into _Animal House_."

Sam was done listening. _"Cantate Deo, psallite Domino-"_

Jessica rolled her eyes and lifted her palm again. Sam's head slammed involuntarily into the wall behind him.

"I _said _I want to talk to you."

Sam gasped for air. The room was spinning. He squeezed his eyes shut, opened them again, and struggled to focus. "About _what_?"

"About the incredibly difficult time we're having getting you on our side."

Sam groaned.

"Darion came to help you out with the transition, and you sent him packing. Before that, Azazel made you a hell of an offer, but you didn't even consider it. You've been a real pain, Sam, and besides that, you've screwed up our entire schedule."

"Good."

"No, it's not. The longer you procrastinate, the angrier Hell becomes, and the messier things will get," Jessica said matter-of-factly. "So, if I were you, I'd listen carefully this time and do what I tell you."

"I'm not taking orders from a _demon_."

Jessica glared at him. She raised her hand once more and flicked her wrist to the left, using some psychic force to twist Sam's insides. His eyes clenched shut as he shouted in pain. "You'll have your turn to talk in a second."

Sam panted, forcing himself to relax so the pain could subside.

"The sixty-six seals are breaking fast," Jessica informed him. "Lilith and her followers are up to twenty-five now. That's almost halfway." She paused as though waiting for Sam's praise.

"Congratulations," he snarled.

"Lucifer's gonna be free in a matter of months, and we've gotta have everything ready for him before he rises."

"So?"

"So, number one on the big to-do list involves securing his vessel."

Sam's eyebrows raised. "_The Devil _needs a vessel?"

She hesitated and frowned, sensing mockery in his tone. "Yes. He does. And you're it, Sam." A smile slowly returned to her lips. "You became Lucifer's true vessel when you won Azazel's psychic version of _Star Search_."

* * *

Jennifer stared at nothing in particular as she used her fork to spin her tiny filet of smoked salmon around in circles on her plate.

Dean watched her as he forced down a bite of the arugula that his long-gone salmon had been served alongside. "If you're not gonna eat that…I'm still starving."

She dropped her fork and pushed her plate toward him without a word.

"Still worked up over our siblings' budding romance?" he asked.

"I've got a bad feeling about them."

Hoping to rid his mouth of the arugula's bitterness, Dean downed half of his beer. The taste was still there. He made a face. Halfway stuck his tongue out in disgust.

"Dean," she said, getting slightly annoyed with him, "I'm talking about a premonition. I think we need to check on them."

"Are you sure it's not just your jealousy trying to-"

"Dean."

"Well, it's a valid question."

"After everything? You really think I'd lie about a premonition?"

He wiped his mouth with his napkin before tossing it onto the tabletop. "No." He rose from his seat. "Let's go then."

* * *

"That-that's what it was about?" Sam stuttered. "Being Lucifer's vessel? That's his plan for me?"

Jessica dipped her chin. "In a nutshell."

Sam was stunned into momentary silence.

"Unfortunately for our side," she went on, "there's a catch. Lucifer needs your say-so before he can jump in your meat suit."

"What?"

"We demons pretty much have it made. We can hijack any of you humans we want, even hop around from one to another. But angels aren't so talented. And Lucifer's an angel. A former one, anyway. So…he's gotta have your consent."

"Well, he's not getting it."

She sighed. "That's why we brought you here. To have this little chat. To make up a contract of sorts. You give us your word now that Lucifer can borrow your skin once he's out of the pit. _Or…_like I said…things get messy."

Sam didn't even ask what she meant by that. "No."

Jessica cocked her head to the side theatrically, pretending to think. "Then let's see…my bosses told me to play dirty…" She scratched her forehead. "Hmm. Now, I'm not supposed to touch your brother. Not unless I want the wrath of Heaven on my ass."

Sam's forehead wrinkled. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"You're the brains of the outfit, you figure it out," she smarted. "Anyway, it's very unfortunate, because Dean would have definitely been my first pick. His untimely, bloody demise really woulda lit the fire under your keister."

"Shut up."

"Sadly, I can't touch his bitch either." She rolled her eyes. "Azazel's plans and all."

Sam watched fearfully as the demon smiled, peering down through Jessica's eyes at her body.

"But I _can _have some fun with her little sister." She glanced up at Sam, her eyes blacker than ever. "Kinda sad, isn't it, Sam? Your luck with women?" She puffed her lips into a pout. "You were enjoying your little stroll around the art gallery, weren't you? You thought you might have finally found yourself a classy, pretty girl who already knows your secrets and likes you anyway. You thought maybe, just maybe, with _this _Jessica, you'd be able to love again."

After drawing in a deep breath, Sam gave the exorcism another shot. "_Regna terrae, cantate Deo-_"

"Did I say I was finished?" Her palm thrust toward him once more and twisted, painfully contorting his intestines.

He cried out in agony.

She lowered her hand and the knot in his abdomen loosened. "Lord knows you deserve somebody, Sam, after all you've been through. And for Dean to have someone while you're all alone? It's just wrong. Unbearable, I'm sure. Being the third wheel's never fun." She shrugged her shoulders. "Oh, well. So much for your second chance at romance, huh?" She glanced down at her body again. "'Cause I'm gonna take my time with Jessica Bane. Ooh, I think I'll make Jennifer watch."

"Go…" Sam panted, "to Hell."

"Sure. I'll go _running _down under if you give us your consent right now."

He gulped. "No. I won't."

She held her chiseled jaw up proudly as she walked across the room, headed towards him. "Then after I'm done with Jessica, I think I'll head to the Roadhouse in Nebraska. I hear you've got some friends there. Ellen Harvelle? She'll be next. Then it's your mullet-wearing pal Ash. I'm always happy to take out more hunters, especially when the way out is extra slow…and extra painful."

"You're bluffing," Sam ventured. "You won't do all that, you're a nobody. Just some bottom-level brown-noser Azazel put up to his dirty work."

"Wanna bet?"

Jessica moved closer to him and slipped a hand inside his jacket. She located the interior pocket where his switchblade was stashed. Her eyes, now the exact same shade of blue as Jennifer's, stared into his as she drew the knife from his pocket.

She released the blade and brought it to her forearm. She dug the edge deep into her skin, releasing a stream of crimson.

"Stop it!" Sam shouted.

"Once I've had my fun with Ellen and Ash and I've burned the Roadhouse to the ground, I'll make a little trip to Sioux Falls. Stop by and see Bobby. He's pretty much been like a father to you and Dean, right? When you were a kid, you called him 'uncle'?" She dragged the silver blade across Jessica's opposite forearm. "Do you think Uncle Bobby might enjoy seeing his own entrails?"

Sam was out of retorts. He just watched her, horrified.

* * *

"They're not here," Jennifer concluded after she and Dean had checked the entire art gallery and found no sign of Jessica and Sam. "Where would they have gone?"

Dean reached into a front pocket of his jacket to pull out his phone. "I don't know." He called Sam's cell.

It was very faint, but Sam's ringtone, an old-fashioned bell ring, was audible. And it was inside the gallery.

Jennifer and Dean stared at each other.

They frantically moved around the hall, searching for the origin of the sound. When they reached the white door at the back of the room, the ringing grew loudest.

* * *

Sam could do nothing about the ringing phone in his pocket, yet Jessica glowered at him, insulted by the rude interruption.

Seconds later, the door of the private exhibition hall burst open. Dean charged inside, closely followed by Jennifer.

"Dean!" Sam screamed. "She's a demon!"

The couple looked at Jessica. Her black eyes switched quickly to blue, but not before they had seen their true form.

Jennifer gasped. "Jessica?"

"Not anymore, _Mrs. _Dean," the demon taunted. "Glad you could join the party."

Dean's first instinct was to reach for the Colt, which he had safely tucked in his innermost jacket compartment. But there was only _one _bullet left, and if used, that bullet would kill not only the demon, but Jennifer's sister as well.

Now that Dean and Jennifer provided a distraction, Sam decided to try the exorcism a third time. "_Regna terrae, cantate Deo, psallite Domino, qui-_"

"Sam!" Jessica cried out. "Will you stop it? You're just embarrassing yourself."

Jennifer took a step toward her.

Dean reached for her arm, cautioning her.

But Jennifer continued, compelled by some new feeling inside her, some strong new inclination to approach Jessica. Something was drawing Jennifer to her. Something was telling Jennifer to touch her.

"What are you doing?" Dean demanded as she walked on.

Jennifer didn't respond. She didn't know where these directions were coming from, but she was sure she had to follow them. She _had _to touch Jessica. Her palm, Jessica's shoulder. She had to do it. Now.

It was almost magnetic the way her hand met her sister's shoulder. Almost rehearsed the way Jennifer's eyelids automatically slid closed upon the contact.

The result shocked everyone.

Jessica's body twitched. Her jaw fell open. She released a horrible scream as a cloud of black smoke jetted out of her, rose to the ceiling, and disappeared between the tiles. She collapsed to the floor.

As the demon's grip was relinquished, Sam slid down the wall and landed with a painful thud. He glanced up from the carpet, staring awestruck at Jennifer.

Dean's expression of astonishment closely mirrored Sam's. "How-" he gulped, "how did you do that?"

Jennifer stared back at him, stunned and frightened by her actions. "I don't know."


	90. 2x05, V: Consequences

**A/N: **Thanks to everyone for your wonderful reviews! You're always so encouraging, and I _really _appreciate it.

* * *

_Abbott Hall,_

_Langston College._

Jennifer curled up next to her little sister on the black and white floral duvet cover that draped the twin-sized dorm bed. For the first time in years, she felt like a big sister again; she sat, listening supportively, as Jessica recounted the possession from her point of view.

"It happened right after you left my dorm," Jessica told her. "I was studying. Getting ready for my final exam. The room changed. I could...feel it in here with me. I felt it when it took over."

Jennifer winced. "You must have been terrified."

"I knew what was going on the whole time it was inside me," Jessica said. "When I forced Sam into that wall, when I hurt him, I could feel it. And all these _horrible _things were coming out of my mouth that I couldn't control."

Jennifer reached out to touch her arm, but Jessica pulled away before she could.

"When you touched me," Jessica went on slowly, "I felt this…spark. Like a burst of energy flowing from your hand." Confusion wrinkled her forehead. "Then the demon was gone."

Jennifer shifted her eyes to the duvet cover.

"What did you do?" Jessica asked.

Jennifer wasn't entirely sure of the answer to that, and she certainly wasn't going to share her theories. Even after everything that had happened in the last couple of days, there was only so much Jessica should know. "I…" she started, "I have no idea."

Jessica looked at her. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I don't know."

"...How? How do you not know?"

"It's never happened before."

"But that doesn't make any sense."

"I know."

"Well, something caused it. Supernatural powers don't just show up out of nowhere. Were there green meteor rocks in your smoked salmon or something?"

Jennifer frowned at the sarcastic _Smallville _reference. "I don't know what caused it, Jessica. It freaked me out as much as it did you." That was the truth.

Jessica grabbed a black throw pillow and hugged it. "The demon said Azazel had plans for you."

Jennifer's stomach flopped hard. Her mouth went dry.

"Maybe it's connected to that," Jessica suggested. "Do you know what kind of plans it was talking about?"

"No," she lied. "I have no clue."

"The demon said something else."

Almost sick with anxiety, Jennifer asked ever so reluctantly, "What?"

"The Devil is about to rise, and Sam is supposed to be his vessel."

Something inside Jennifer sank. Things suddenly made sense. Azazel's plans for Sam, his evil destiny, why John had warned that Dean might have to kill him. It, unfortunately, felt like the missing puzzle piece. "Maybe it was lying," she said hopefully.

"No. It wasn't. I could tell. That's why it was after him. To get his consent. What does all this mean?"

Jennifer swallowed hard. "I don't think we want to know."

Jessica just stared at her, wide-eyed and looking on the verge of panic.

"I should go," Jennifer blurted. She pushed herself up from the mattress fast. "Dean and Sam are waiting on me."

Jessica stood up beside her and tried to relax. "Right."

Jennifer grabbed her gray coat from the foot of the bed and pulled it on. "Let's, um," she stammered, "let's stay in touch this time, okay?"

"Yeah, definitely."

"Okay."

After a slightly awkward pause, Jessica said, "You know, it's, um, it's Christmas in less than two weeks. You should go home with me."

"Oh, no," Jennifer replied quickly. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not? Everyone would love to see you again."

"I'm not so sure about that. I didn't exactly leave Antioch on the best terms, remember?"

Jessica frowned at her. "What if you just tell them the truth? This could be your chance to set things straight."

"I don't know if that's possible, Jessica. The truth's just too…weird." Jennifer shook her head. "And what about Dean and Sam? Can you really imagine dragging them to a Bane family Christmas? _Really?_"

Jessica almost laughed simply picturing the idea. "Wonder what MawMaw would think of them."

"Oh, gosh."

"I can hear her now. Calling Dean a hoodlum. Asking if the two of you've been fornicating."

Jennifer giggled.

"And of course," Jessica went on, "she'd have to ask why Sam follows you around, 'cause somethin' like that just ain't natural'."

"Ugh, see what I mean? I can't force the two of them to endure that."

"Please. They'd probably love a chance to have a normal family Christmas. And you could use some time away from...all this."

Jennifer considered it for a moment. Her sister made some good points; a normal family Christmas would be wonderful, especially given their most recent circumstances. They deserved a holiday now more than ever. "I don't know..." She drew in a deep breath and let it out. "No," she finally decided. "We can't go with you. I can't go back and face them." She gulped. "I just can't."

Jessica gave a sympathetic nod. "Well," she sighed, "if you change your mind, just let me know."

Pulling her into a hug, Jennifer told her goodbye. "Please be careful."

"I will," Jessica promised, ending the embrace. "_You _be careful."

Jennifer smiled. "I'll see you soon."

* * *

Dean waited outside the door to Jessica's dorm room, absent mindedly watching the female students as they came and went. One shapely young blonde flashed a flirtatious smile at him just as Jennifer exited the room and joined him.

"Hey," Dean greeted his wife. He noted with amusement the dirty look she shot the blonde girl. "How's Jessica doin'?"

"Good, I guess. Considering."

He nodded. "We could stick around a little while longer, you know. Give the two of you some time together. Might be good for you."

"I don't know," she sounded unsure as she started down the hallway. "Where's Sam?"

Dean noticed her intentional subject change but didn't point it out. "He went to Cobb Hall to check out that Kroger kid," Dean said, walking faster to catch up with her. "The one that supposedly saw the black smoke in the bathroom? Said he'd meet us at the car when he's finished."

"Oh." She kept her head down as they walked. "She remembers what happened."

Dean looked at her.

"Jessica," she clarified. "She remembers what I did. She asked me how I did it."

"What'd you say?"

"I told her I didn't know."

They reached the stairwell and began their descent to the main floor.

Cautiously, he asked, "How _did _you do it?"

"I honestly don't know, Dean. I walked into that room and…something inside me just knew to do it. It was like something was willing me to touch her. It was strange; I don't know how to describe it."

Neither of them spoke again until they reached the first floor.

"Azazel's gotta be the one controlling it," Dean said at last. "Right? I mean, it's _his _blood…" He stopped, afraid to continue.

"You'd think," she answered, ignoring his apprehension. "But why would he have _wanted _me to expel that demon?"

"I don't know." Dean opened the door for her when they came to the exit. "Nothin' makes sense anymore."

Sam was already waiting for them by the ugly old Caprice. "How's Jessica?" he asked.

Jennifer gave him the same answer she'd given Dean.

"Any luck with the Kroger kid?" Dean asked him.

"There was no black smoke in the west bathroom," Sam informed them. "Apparently, the demon made it up to throw us off."

"That's good news for a change," Dean said. He unlocked the Caprice and slid behind the wheel.

Sam climbed into the backseat after Jennifer called shotgun. The inside of the car was quiet, except for the sounds of the local classic rock station streaming from the radio, until the Langston College campus was several miles behind them. It was then that Jennifer ended the conversation lull.

"Sam," she said, keeping her eyes on the windshield. "My sister told me why the demon was after you."

Sam sat up a little straighter. "What'd she tell you?"

Dean glanced at his wife, eager to hear her response.

"She said the demon was there to get your consent," Jennifer said, "because you're supposed to be Lucifer's vessel."

It took a moment for Sam to reply. "Yeah." He glanced out the window. "That's what it said."

"Lucifer's vessel?" Dean repeated, sounding skeptical. "Surely it was lying."

"I don't think it was," Sam said softly.

Dean struggled to keep his focus on the road before them. "But why would the Devil need a vessel? More than that, why would he need your consent to possess you? Isn't he more powerful than that?"

"I don't know. Apparently not," Sam said. "That's why Azazel's been after me this whole time. The night you two got married, he wanted me to promise I'd do whatever was 'asked of me'. He wouldn't give me the details, but this is what he was talking about."

An uncomfortable silence returned to the vehicle.

Jennifer sighed wearily. "What are we gonna do?"

"Keep Lucifer in his cage," Dean said. "If he can't get out, he won't need a vessel."

"But how can we do that? Lilith keeps breaking seals, and we don't know how to stop her," Sam pointed out.

"We'll find a way," Dean said, sounding much more confident than he was. "And in the meantime, you keep saying no to Lucifer."

* * *

_Lighthouse Motel._

_Two Hours Later._

Alone in his room, Sam leaned against the headboard of his bed and halfway watched a _Matlock _re-run. It had just cut to commercials when his BlackBerry buzzed on the nightstand. He reached over for it and checked the caller ID.

_Incoming Call: Bobby._

The words on the screen caused his stomach to churn. A phone call from Bobby this late in the evening was never a good thing. He pressed the little green phone with dread.

"Hello?"

"Sam? It's Bobby."

"Hey, Bobby. What's going on?"

He heard Bobby's heavy sigh. "Have you heard about the Roadhouse?"

Sam's stomach clenched. "No. What do you mean?"

"Burned to the ground. Everybody inside was killed." A pause. "Ash and Ellen included."

Sam closed his eyes. His mind focused on the demon's threats: _I think I'll head to the Roadhouse in Nebraska. I hear you've got some friends there. Ellen Harvelle? She'll be next. Then it's your mullet-wearing pal Ash_. This couldn't have happened. He couldn't have _let _this happen.

Bobby sighed again. "Got the looks of demons all over it. You kids need to be extra careful."

The demon's words kept playing in his head: _Once I've had my fun with Ellen and Ash and I've burned the Roadhouse to the ground, I'll make a little trip to Sioux Falls. Stop by and see Bobby._

"Listen to me, Bobby," Sam breathed, "they'll be coming for you next. You've gotta protect yourself."

"Don't worry about me, Sam. I've got somewhere safe to go, and I'm fully intent on parkin' it there for a while. It's you three I'm worried about."

"We'll be fine," Sam told him. He wondered about Bobby's 'somewhere safe' but didn't ask questions. "Just…just be careful, okay? And keep us posted."

"You bet."

Sam started to say goodbye, but Bobby's voice stopped him.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"I think we're comin' into the homestretch here. I don't know how many seals are left, but it can't be too many." Bobby sounded close to desperate. "We gotta find some way to stop Lilith."

"I know."

"Keep your eyes peeled. And take care."

"You too, Bobby."

Sam heard a click as Bobby hung up. He pressed 'end' and returned the BlackBerry to the nightstand.

He rested his head against the headboard and let his eyes close. He thought of all the people who had been killed by demons trying to spur Sam into action: first Jess, his beloved girlfriend. Then all those innocent suburbians in Friendship, Virginia, who had been infected with the Croatoan virus. The dean of the Langston College history department, Bridget Murray, and the other students. Now Ellen, Ash, and a dozen other hunters joined that growing list.

How many other people would be added to that list if he continued to make what seemed to be the right decisions? If he kept fighting Hell's plans for him?

He couldn't say yes to Lucifer. He _couldn't_.

But if he didn't soon, people were going to keep dying.

People he loved.

_You give us your word now that Lucifer can borrow your skin once he's out of the pit. Or…like I said…things get messy_.


	91. 2x06, I: A Terrible Idea

**A/N**: Sorry I haven't updated in a while! Nursing school has seriously taken over my life. Anywho, here's a new chapter. Thanks for reading and submitting all the encouraging reviews, guys. Please keep them coming!

* * *

**"Somebody Up There Likes Me"**

**

* * *

**

_Davesboro, Missouri._

_Three Months Later._

The trunk of the Impala clapped shut. Sam slung the green canvas duffel over his shoulder. Dean forced the magazine into the grip of his handgun. It clicked into place.

Jennifer, who was twenty-three weeks into her pregnancy and very clearly showing it, met the brothers at the side of the vehicle. "Got everything?" she asked in a hushed voice.

"Yeah," Dean mumbled unenthusiastically. He looked her in the eye. "But I'm gonna say it one more time. This is a terrible idea."

Jennifer sighed. "I'll be fine."

"You don't know that." Dean glanced down at her bulging abdomen then looked away with a huff. "This is ridiculous. We shoulda left you with Bobby."

"I would have worried about you two the whole time."

"At least you woulda been safe."

"Well, it's very nice to know you care, Dean, but you're gonna have to get over it. I'm not gonna sit around while you and Sam go off hunting."

"Right. Because it makes more sense to waddle around after demons, hoping your water doesn't break when you pull the damn trigger-"

"Hey," Sam butted in, sounding almost as annoyed as he looked. "Give it a rest. Terrible idea or not, Jennifer's here, and we've got a job to do. So, can we drop the lovers' spat and get on with business?"

Dean made a face. "Okay, bossy."

Sam rolled his eyes and led the way to their destination: a decrepit, three-story, Victorian-era house. In its day, the place had been a lovely gingerbread house with round towers, elaborate roof finials, and stained glass windows. Dignified ladies in frilly dresses had probably once sipped lemonade on its wraparound porch. But years of neglect had transformed the building into an eyesore. Sagging shutters, broken windows, and an overgrowth of flora made the place look like a typical haunted house, and the darkness of the night and the full moon overhead didn't add any curb appeal.

The Winchesters were there because about a week ago, two curious teenagers had wandered inside the house without wandering back out. Sam did a little research and learned of several other individuals who had disappeared inside the abandoned residence over the past few decades.

"You could at least wait in the car," Dean muttered as they followed the cracked sidewalk to the front of the house.

Jennifer sighed again. "Dean."

Sam shushed the couple as he ascended the front porch steps. He reached the door. Both the lock and the knob were missing. He cautiously pushed the door inward.

As they headed inside, Jennifer moved behind Dean before he could tell her to.

Sam clicked on his flashlight and shined it around the foyer. Remnants of water-stained floral wallpaper curled off the walls. The wooden floor was covered in a thick layer of dust and dirt, and although a few of the boards were missing, the ones that remained felt sturdy beneath their feet.

Jennifer switched on an EMF detector and began scanning the room.

"Watch where you step," Dean told her, eyeing the areas missing planks nervously.

She just looked at him.

Sam ventured into an adjacent room that had most likely been the parlor.

Dean stayed behind with his wife. He flipped on a second flashlight and moved closer to her. "EMF?"

"Not yet."

They walked deeper into the foyer and came to a staircase. The EMF meter blipped slightly. They exchanged quick glances.

Jennifer moved closer to the stairs. The dial began to quiver. The beeping grew louder. She let the meter lead her. When they were past the staircase, it was reading at full capacity.

Apparently, Sam could hear the beeps from the parlor, because he was now standing with them, gun drawn.

The three of them took a look around. A single closed door beneath the angle of the stairs caught their attention.

Dean approached it slowly, gripping his gun. He grasped the doorknob. Turned it. The hinges gave an ominous creak. He shined his flashlight into the darkness and discovered a flight of stairs leading downward.

"Basement," Sam said.

Jennifer turned off the buzzing EMF meter, tucked it inside a jacket pocket, and exchanged it for a Smith & Wesson pistol.

"Oh, no," Dean protested. "_We'll_ take the creepy basement."

"What?"

"You're staying put. I don't want you goin' down there."

"You think leaving me alone is a better idea?"

Dean frowned. "Stay at the top of the stairs then. Where we can see each other."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"I don't know. Man the flashlight." He handed her his Maglite and took Sam's. He winked at her before taking off down the stairs.

Sam shuffled after him.

Jennifer exhaled loudly and remained at the doorway, shining the flashlight into the basement as instructed. She watched as the men disappeared into the darkness that the beam of her flashlight couldn't reach. The urge to follow them nearly overwhelmed her, and it wasn't just because she wanted to help with the case; she was beginning to feel uncomfortable, alone on the main floor with her back to the rest of the house.

She cocked her pistol.

A floorboard creaked. Behind her.

Her heart skipped. Clutching the gun, she pivoted around.

She saw nothing.

Another creaking noise came from the foyer.

Jennifer gulped and took a step toward the sound. The figure of a woman suddenly appeared before her. A solid figure, not a spirit. A human body. She lifted the flashlight and illuminated a pretty, pale face. Long dark hair.

The door to the basement slammed shut behind Jennifer before she knew what had happened. She flipped around and screamed, "Dean!"

She fumbled for the doorknob. Twisted it left, then right. It wouldn't budge.

She glanced over her shoulder and gasped. The female intruder was less than a foot away from her.

The woman lifted her left hand and flicked her wrist. Both the pistol and the flashlight flew out of Jennifer's hands and hit the floor.

"Dean!" she shouted again. She could hear the brothers clambering up the stairs, calling for her. They were pulling on the opposite side of the door to no avail.

Jennifer tried to scream again, but she couldn't find her voice. The two women were merely inches apart now. The dark-haired stranger stared intently at her, directly in the eyes, never looking away. She moved closer still.

Jennifer instinctively moved her hands in front of her pregnant belly.

To her surprise, the stranger lifted her free hand and touched Jennifer's face. She glided the back side of her hand down Jennifer's cheek. She ran her fingertips over Jennifer's lips.

Jennifer shivered under the stranger's touch.

The stranger stroked a curly strand of her hair. "Jennifer," she finally whispered, still staring into her eyes.

Jennifer tried to reel back, but she couldn't move. She was pinned between the stranger and the wall.

The woman lowered her hand to Jennifer's midsection. Jennifer felt her arms go limp as the woman moved them from their guarding position. Breaking eye contact for the first time, the stranger cupped the roundness of Jennifer's abdomen with her palm, as if hoping to feel a kick from the baby within.

Jennifer watched her, terrified.

The woman let go. She resumed her gaze, but her expression was different. It was now a look of purpose. A woman on a mission. "I'm sorry."

The stranger raised her right hand. Clasped within her grasp, a long, thin golden blade glinted in the glow of the fallen flashlight. Her hand trembled slightly as she brought the knife over her head.


	92. 2x06, II: Jennifer's Baby

Jennifer shuddered as she looked away from the blade that dangled above her, from the strange woman that held it. She clenched her eyes shut and prayed harder than she'd ever prayed before.

_"Stop!" _a deep voice cried.

Jennifer recognized that voice. She opened her eyes and made out the outline of a trench coat.

"Lower the knife, Elisha," Castiel instructed the woman as he stepped from the darkness. "You are not to harm her."

"Get out of here, Castiel," the woman called Elisha responded, keeping the knife hovering above Jennifer. "I'm doing what must be done."

"No. You are not."

"Yes, I am! We have to end this before it starts!"

Castiel moved closer to the women. "This is not the way. Jennifer doesn't have to die."

"No, but the child does, and I'm not waiting around for his birth! I'm not waiting any longer, Castiel. I've waited more than long enough."

"Wh-what are you talking about?" Jennifer managed to whisper.

Elisha's brow furrowed as she returned her gaze to Jennifer. "Your son cannot be born."

"Why not?"

"Haven't you pieced things together yourself?" Elisha asked. "The demon blood inside you? Inside the child? Didn't you wonder about your new ability to expel demons? Didn't you think it was odd that it came out of nowhere just weeks into your pregnancy? The child you carry inside your womb is no ordinary child. He has a destiny, a terrible one, and he must be stopped before he has a chance to fulfill it."

Jennifer swallowed. "What's his destiny?"

"I am genuinely sorry, Jennifer," Elisha tightened her grip on the knife, "But I have to do this."

She plunged the knife below, but before the blade reached Jennifer, Elisha vanished. Zapped away into nothingness. Teleported like that girl with the lead bracelet from _Smallville._

It was just Jennifer and Castiel, standing alone together in the faint glow of the flashlight.

The door to the basement burst open. Sam and Dean came tumbling out.

"What happened?" Dean demanded, rushing to his wife's side. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Jennifer breathed. She glanced at Castiel. Blood dripped from the angel's forearm and covered his right palm. "Castiel, you're bleeding."

He calmly peered down at his bloodied hand.

"What's that?" Sam asked, shining his flashlight on the wall behind the angel.

A circle surrounded by a few foreign symbols had been freshly painted onto the faded wallpaper in blood.

"It's an angel-banishing sigil," Castiel explained, letting his wounded arm fall painlessly to his side. "It's Enochian. I used it to expel Elisha."

"Was she-" Jennifer gulped. "Then she's an angel?"

"I am afraid so."

"The same one who caused the car crash?"

Castiel nodded. "Yes."

"Whoa, whoa, hang on a second," Dean interrupted. "What the hell just happened? And when did Michael Landon here decide to rejoin the party?"

"Castiel just saved my life," Jennifer said slowly. She looked at the angel. "And our baby's."

Dean cast a brief apologetic glance in Castiel's direction. "So you're saying the same psycho angel who tried to waste us in New Hampshire came back for round two?"

"Yes," Castiel replied. "Except this time, her target was your son."

Before either Dean or Sam had a chance to ask questions, Jennifer spoke up with a couple of her own. "Why? What kind of destiny was she talking about?"

Dean huffed. "More destiny crap? Song's gettin' kinda old, pal."

"Is what Elisha said the truth?" Jennifer asked.

Castiel's gaze shifted to the floor.

"Castiel, please," she begged. "Tell me what all this means."

"I should not speak of-"

"_Please_," she persisted. "You can't leave us in the dark now. Not after the things I heard her say."

After a long moment of silence in which the angel appeared to be wrestling with his conscience, he stepped forward, looking determined and confident in his decision. In a voice even lower than his normal one, he said, "Your mother called you home for a reason."

He received nothing but blank stares.

"Several months ago, just before the fire that claimed your parents' lives, Alma Bane instructed you to return to Antioch," Castiel refreshed their memories, "and part from the Winchesters."

"What does that have to do with this?" Jennifer asked impatiently.

Castiel took a step closer to her. "Alma called you home because I appeared to her and commanded it. I gave her orders to keep you from the Winchesters. She did as she was told, and that is why Azazel killed her."

Jennifer's lips parted without a sound.

"But…why?" Sam asked for her. "Why would you want to keep her away from us?"

"Bearing this child is the role Azazel chose for Jennifer to play," Castiel informed them. "The demons have been planning this for centuries. The day the deal was made between Alma and Azazel, their plan was set into motion. Jennifer was officially the designated mother of this child. And Dean was predestined to be the father."

"That's a buncha crap," Dean said, only halfway believing himself.

"Think about it," Castiel argued. He turned to Jennifer. "Every premonition, every prophetic dream you were given because of your blood connection to Azazel…they all led you to the Winchesters. Your abilities forged a connection between you from the beginning. They reunited you when you were separated."

Jennifer could barely breathe as she listened, thinking frantically about what he was telling them. She had known it from the start, and deep down, so had Dean- some external force had been drawing them together all along.

They had met in church. Talked for a few minutes and nothing more. That would have been the end of it if Jennifer's 'feeling' hadn't drawn her to the home of Trevor Bradley, the crime scene Dean and Sam just so happened to be investigating. They'd worked together briefly and parted ways only to be brought together again in Des Moines after Jennifer's premonitory nightmare of Dean's death had led her there. Then Jennifer had been psychically pulled to Biloxi, which in a roundabout way brought her back to the Winchesters. Then there were more separations followed by more random meetings in the most random of places, all because Jennifer's hunches had led her there.

Dean and Jennifer really were, as Madame Zendala the fortune-telling carnival mannequin had predicted, destined to '_unite in love as they faced the dark together_.' And the external force that was influencing them, the one Jennifer had been sensing all along, was Azazel.

"Your meetings were never coincidence," Castiel said. "It was all carefully planned by Azazel to get you to this point. To conceive this child."

"Oh yeah?" Dean challenged, wrinkling his forehead. "And what the hell's so special about our kid?"

Castiel's icy blue eyes darted cautiously about the musty old hallway before they stared fiercely into Dean's hazel ones. "The demon blood that flows through Jennifer's veins has passed to him. This gestational exchange makes him unique. From conception, he will be part demon and part human, but far more powerful than either." He paused solemnly before continuing. "Many religions have prophesied his arrival. He is referred to by many different names, but you know him as the Antichrist."

Dean was the first to recover from the stupefied silence that followed. "You've gotta be kidding me."

Castiel almost looked offended. "I am not…'kidding' you."

Jennifer remained speechless.

"The _Antichrist_?" Sam said incredulously.

"No. No way. This is a buncha crap," Dean repeated angrily. "The plot from freakin' _Rosemary's Baby_!"

"The Antichrist is intended to be Lucifer's greatest weapon against Heaven," said Castiel. "He will possess essentially unlimited powers. With a single word, he will be able to destroy the entire Host of Heaven. That is why Elisha tried to kill Jennifer."

"If all that's true," Sam said, "why aren't _you _trying to do the same thing?"

"Elisha disobeyed. We were given strict orders to protect Dean, Jennifer, and their child. The Antichrist, the Apocalypse, Armageddon…it all must come to pass. Heaven and Hell are in agreement where that is concerned. The disagreement is over who will win in the end."

"So that's why you're here," Dean growled at him. "You saved Jennifer's life for the same reason that Darion did; she stays alive, so does your precious Antichrist."

"No." Castiel's stiff, emotionless expression seemed to soften. "I saved her life because I believe Heaven and Hell are wrong about the child." He glanced from Jennifer to Sam. "Whatever destiny may supposedly be his, the demon blood inside him will not cause him to be inherently evil." A pause. "You all know this. You have witnessed it firsthand."

Sam nodded.

"I have watched the three of you long enough to know that if anyone can, _you _can save the child," Castiel told him. "You can stop him before he chooses to follow the wrong side. I have seen each of you fight your own fate, and I have watched you win."

"I don't know about that," Jennifer finally joined in, her voice barely more than a whisper. "It doesn't really seem like we're winning anything."

"You are," said Castiel. "Despite your trials, the three of you remain strong, unyielding to the courses set aside for you."

No one said anything for a few seconds.

Castiel's gaze shifted to the floor. "Angels cannot interfere directly with destiny. That is why I appeared before Alma. My intention was to use her to separate you before your…union could take place."

Dean made a face.

"I hoped then that my intervention would prevent you from reaching this place. But my attempts were futile." Castiel's sadness was obvious in his eyes. "My superiors caught wind of my rebellion, I was plucked from Earth," he averted his gaze, "and Azazel killed Alma and her husband for getting in the way of his plan."

Castiel lifted his bloody hand and examined it once more. His eyes drifted to the Enochian angel-banishing sigil he'd painted on the wall.

"You should realize that I am risking everything by telling you this," Castiel said, refocusing his gaze on the Winchesters. "I am defying orders once again because I believe you have the power to change this child's destiny." His eyes narrowed into an intimidatingly piercing stare. "Do not let my actions be in vain."

In a split second, he was gone.


	93. 2x06, III: Peep Show

_Economy Motel,_

_Davesboro, Missouri._

Jennifer wisely kept her socks on as she trudged across the dusty, salmon pink, paisley carpet that covered the floor of the room she shared with Dean. She was certain it hadn't been vacuumed in at least three years, and she wasn't about to let her bare feet rub against it. She dodged to the right to avoid a questionable brown stain by the TV stand and continued on her way to the bed.

Dean, who was already tucked between the mismatched plaid sheets and sitting propped up against the headboard, watched her as she lifted the ratty, blueberry-colored bedspread and joined him on the lumpy mattress. She said nothing, didn't even look at him, as she rolled onto her side and placed her back toward him.

Since their latest conversation with Castiel, she'd been painfully quiet, and Dean wanted so badly to do something, at least say something, to make things better. He released a heavy sigh. "Look. I know you're scared-"

"Dean, please," she stopped him. "Don't."

"Well, what do you want me to say?"

"Nothing."

He lifted an eyebrow.

"You don't have to say anything," she told him.

Dean frowned. "You wanna just pretend like everything's the same?"

"Sure."

"That's not you."

The piece of crap mattress squeaked loudly as she rolled over to face him. "Since the day I found out about this baby…" she started, "something hasn't felt right." She paused, looking guilty about her confession. "When Darion told me about the demon blood Azazel put inside me, I just knew, somehow, that it would pass to the baby."

She stopped talking, but Dean could tell she wasn't finished. He kept quiet, waiting for her to go on.

"When I…expelled that demon from Jessica, I knew, deep down, that it was connected to the baby, and that it meant something bad…" Jennifer swallowed hard and pushed herself up into a sitting position to meet his eye level. "I guess what I'm trying to say is…I'm not that surprised."

Dean pressed his lips together, unsure of what to say. "Castiel's right, you know," he settled on, surprising even himself. Not so long ago, he'd called the angel a lying weirdo in a trench coat. "There's nothing evil about this kid. He's no different than you and Sam. Just a good person with something bad inside him that he can overcome."

She looked at him uncertainly.

"Something we can help him overcome," he edited himself.

Jennifer scooted toward him and snuggled up close.

He wrapped an arm around her. Kissed her forehead. "It'll be okay."

They sat, cuddled together in mutual silence, for a couple of minutes. Then Dean let out a soft chuckle.

"What?" Jennifer asked, confused by the out of place sound.

"I don't know, it's just…a mom with psychic powers. A baby destined to be the Antichrist. An uncle that Lucifer's dyin' to wear to the prom." Dean shook his head. "We're one screwy family."

Jennifer had to laugh.

He exhaled loudly. "It's just not fair," he said, turning serious again. "You don't deserve this." His eyes focused on a small scar below her right cheekbone, leftovers from her fight with the furnace ghost that had killed her cousin Dustin. He glanced down at the scoop neckline of her nightgown and studied the scar below her left clavicle. The scar that would forever represent the bullet that had pierced her skin in Virginia. Then his eyes drifted to her belly, rounded and enlarged from the growing, ill-fated child within. He swallowed hard, trying to keep himself together as a dozen different emotions rose inside him. "God, you don't deserve this. Any of it."

"Don't go there." She cupped the back of his neck with her hand. "Don't."

His eyes glistened with hot, bitter tears. "Dammit, Jennifer, you've followed God your whole friggin' life. You pray, you read the Bible, you're a good person. A truly _good _person. And you, _you're _the one they choose to give birth to the damn Antichrist?"

"Profanity aside, you speak the truth, Dean Winchester," said a low, husky voice that did not belong to Dean or Jennifer.

The couple nearly jumped out of the bed. Castiel, in his trademark trench coat, was standing at the footboard, staring at them.

"Dude," Dean said as Jennifer hurriedly pulled the covers closer to them. "What the hell?"

Castiel's expression, or lack of one, did not change. "My apologies. I did not mean to startle you."

"Then why the hell didn't you knock?" Dean demanded.

Slowly, Castiel turned his head toward the door, looking as though the concept of knocking had never crossed his mind. After a moment, he returned his attention to the couple. "I have been watching you for a while."

Dean blinked. "Uh, okay. Creepy. Were you hopin' for a peep show or somethin'?"

Castiel showed no reaction. "I agree that Jennifer's role as the bearer of the Antichrist is not of the Lord. He knows the Apocalypse must come to pass, but He did not instigate this decision. And I believe He is not pleased with it. That is why I have faith that you can change your destinies."

His words seemed to comfort Jennifer, but Dean wasn't all that impressed. "Is that why you popped in at two A.M.? To tell us that?" he asked.

"No. It isn't."

Dean waited for an explanation, but received none. "So…why are you here?"

"I have located Lilith's whereabouts."

"Okay," Dean said hesitantly. "What do you want us to do about it? We don't know how to 'stop' her. And you said we can't kill her-"

"No. Lilith cannot be killed."

"Then how do we stop her from breaking the rest of the seals?"

Castiel turned to Jennifer. "_She _can send Lilith back to Hell."

"Me?" Jennifer asked, tugging the bed sheets closer to her body.

"We can use this new ability of yours to our advantage," Castiel explained.

"That'll work on someone as powerful as Lilith?"

"I think so, yes."

Dean frowned. "You _think _so?"

"There is no way to be certain," admitted Castiel. "But given the child's immense powers, I believe it will work."

"And if it doesn't?" Dean posed.

"We will likely be slaughtered in the manner of livestock."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Terrific."

"But," Castiel said, "the demons will not lay a hand on Jennifer." He stared imploringly into her eyes. "You are our only hope."

She gulped. Looked at Dean. Then back at Castiel. "Well, then we have to try."

Reluctantly, Dean nodded his consent. "So. Where's Lilith?"


	94. 2x06, IV: Lilith

**A/N: **I HAD to post a chapter on Halloween. And given the occasion, I had to make sure it was extra gory. Tell me what you think! Happy Halloween! Watch out for razorblades in your candy. ;)

* * *

_Victory Christian Church,_

_Kilburn, Pennsylvania._

_The next morning.  
_

On a wooden stool in front of a bright, hand-painted mural of Noah's ark, Marsha Albers sat before her fourth grade Sunday School class, looking just as colorful as the wall painting behind her. With her yellow turtleneck, fuchsia corduroy jumper, navy eyeshadow, and cotton-candy pink lipstick, the middle-aged, poofy-haired woman seemed to be left over from a different decade. She leaned forward on her stool and spoke in a loud, overly animated storytelling voice as she recounted the exciting Biblical tale of Daniel and the lions' den. The group of seven children sat Indian-style on the floor around her and listened attentively.

"-when the men saw Daniel praying in his house, they went straight to the king and told on him," said Marsha. "What do you think the king did?"

One boy in the front of their semi-circle arrangement raised his hand.

Marsha was delighted by his response. "Yes, Micah?"

"He threw Daniel in the lions' den because he broke the law," Micah replied matter-of-factly.

"Very good, Micah!" said Marsha, slapping her hands together for a single clap of satisfaction. "Very good. It was against the law for Daniel to pray to God, and when the king heard about it, he ordered his men to lock Daniel in a big pit filled with hungry lions."

An exceptionally cute little girl with curly blonde pigtails and a frilly yellow sundress slipped her hand into the air.

Marsha smiled in acknowledgment. "Yes, Ally, dear?"

"Did the lions eat him all up?" Ally asked her.

"Ooh, just keep listening and you'll find out."

Ally sat up a little straighter and folded her hands in her lap in a most ladylike fashion. "I hope they did," she said, smiling. "I hope those mean old lions ripped his arms right off his body, and his legs off, and his head off too. I hope they chomped his heart out while it was still beating."

Marsha was taken aback by the girl's unexpectedly violent comments. "Ally!"

"I hope Daniel screamed and screamed," Ally went on with disturbingly cheerful enthusiasm. "I hope there was bright red blood everywhere."

"My goodness, Ally," Marsha cut in, "let's settle down!"

Ally tilted her head slightly, keeping her wide, sparkling blue eyes on her teacher. "Why?"

"Those are terrible things to say," Marsha said, her voice sounding both disapproving and horrified.

Immediately, Ally's demeanor changed. Her enthusiasm vanished. Her eyes darkened. Her smile twisted into a hateful scowl. "You're a terrible person," she spat out. "You're just a mean old ugly hag and you don't like me."

The Sunday School teacher's mouth fell open as she struggled for a response. The other students looked equally bewildered. And frightened.

Ally poked her lips out into a pout. "I don't like you anymore, Miss Marsha."

"What?"

In one quick motion, Ally lifted her hand, flicked it ninety degrees, and snapped Marsha Albers's neck.

* * *

The Impala jerked to a halt in the parking lot of Victory Christian Church, the modest, white brick building in which Lilith was at work, according to Castiel. Though cars overflowed the too-small slab of concrete, no people were in sight. No sounds of chattering church-goers echoed across the lot. No organ hymns drifted from the sanctuary's walls. The seemingly deserted place had an ominous feel to it.

Jennifer stepped out of the Impala cautiously and took a good look around the property. The parking lot wasn't as empty as she'd first thought. Two men in almost identical black suits stood rigidly at the main entrance, apparently guarding it; two more stood at a side door.

As she joined Sam and Dean at the open trunk, she called their attention to the guards.

"Demons?" Sam wondered.

She nodded. "Or church security."

Dean grabbed some extra salt rounds from the weapons compartment. "I'm gonna go with demons."

Jennifer glanced across the parking lot at the suit-clad doormen. A bad feeling in her gut told her Dean was right. "How are we gonna get past them?"

"If they're demons, you'll just have to work your mojo," Dean told her. "If they're not demons…smile and apologize for being late for the sermon." He extracted a flask of holy water before closing the trunk as quietly as he could. He slid the container into the front pocket of the suit jacket Jennifer had forced him to wear to blend in. "Let's do this."

He led the way up the hill, toward the church building, toward the front door where two of the guards stood. The doormen, who could have easily passed for Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones in their iconic _Men in Black _pose, kept their eyes on the Winchesters the entire way.

"Mornin', fellas," Dean greeted them with a smile.

The Men in Black didn't smile back.

"Lovely one, isn't it?" Dean went on. When the guards didn't reciprocate his politeness, he gave a fake cough. "_Christo._"

Both men flinched at the word.

Without hesitation, Jennifer stepped forward and placed a hand on each of them. She barely had to concentrate- the men's bodies convulsed at once. Their lips parted and spewed two streams of black smoke into the sky.

"Go," she cued Dean, who was staring at her and looking a bit disturbed by the ease with which she'd just performed a double demonic expulsion. He snapped out of it and dashed into the church, closely followed by Sam.

As the guards' bodies dropped to the ground, Jennifer darted in after the brothers, stopping briefly to dig a package of rock salt from her purse. She ripped it open and poured a thick line of the stuff over the threshold before continuing inside.

Except for Dean and Sam, the main lobby was empty. Back-of-a-hearse quiet. The continued deserted feel began to worry them all.

Sam was warily eyeing the closed door to the sanctuary. He bobbed his head toward it. Dean, with his salt-round-loaded gun drawn, took his signal and carefully proceeded to the door. Pushed it open. The three of them couldn't have prepared for what they found on the other side.

Glorious morning sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows, casting an inappropriately golden glow on a heap of mangled bodies. Dead people of all ages, dressed in their Sunday best, scattered around the church. Some lay sprawled across the carpet in the side aisles. Some slumped lifelessly in the pews. A river of crimson wound down the main aisle to the altar, where in front of the pulpit, a little girl in a blood-stained yellow sundress stood, dripping knife in hand.

"Hi, there," the little girl greeted them happily. She raised a bloody hand and waved. "Come in. I made a big mess, so watch where you step."

The Winchesters moved slowly into the sanctuary, navigating around the rows of unfortunate parishioners.

Jennifer's breath snagged in her throat as she passed the bodies. She tried to keep her eyes on the little girl at the pulpit, but it was impossible. A thirty-something man in a blue polo and khakis lay inches away from her. His lifeless sea green eyes stared up in horror. A dead elderly woman stretched across the carpet before her, clutching a faded King James Version against her chest. Jennifer could hardly keep herself together as she made her way down the aisle.

"I know you," said the little girl. "I've been waiting to meet you for a very long time, Sam." She smiled at him. "You're taller than I imagined."

Sam raised his gun.

"Nice to finally meet you too, Jennifer," she said. Her smile faded. "_Not _Dean, though. I couldn't give a hoot about him. He's just a silly old boob."

"Am I?" Dean growled, aiming his pistol at her. "Well, you're an evil little bitch."

She gasped. "That's not a very nice word. And I don't think you realize who you're talking to."

"Sure I do," Dean argued. "You're Lilith, right? The high-ranking cockroach?"

The little girl giggled and twirled her bloody knife around like a mini-baton.

Still unable to take her eyes off the faces of Lilith's victims, Jennifer was only vaguely aware of the dialog between the demon and her husband. She'd never seen such extensive gore. So much blood. And all of it was in the middle of a church sanctuary. Just hours earlier, these motionless bodies had stepped innocently into the building with their families, carrying their Bibles, greeting each other with handshakes, ready to sing praises to their God and study His book. An entire church congregation, brutally massacred for no reason. Her heart swelled with sympathy, then rage. Her chest ached with the burden of it. It took everything inside Jennifer to keep from charging at the merciless girl.

"Admiring my handiwork, Jennifer?" Lilith suddenly asked.

Jennifer lifted her head, trembling with emotion.

"You've gotta soft spot for them, don'tcha?" Lilith's eyes glittered. "House of the Lord, my bottom." She smiled evily. "Serving your 'God' sure doesn't pay off, does it? The stuff he's making you all go through? It just isn't fair, is it? When's He ever gonna come through for you lamebrains?"

Jennifer gulped. Ignoring the pounding in her chest, not listening the words in her head that screamed at her to turn around and get out while she could, she bolted bravely down the aisle.

The little girl waved her hand playfully. "Oh, you're so silly, Jennifer. Thinking you can stop me with your super-special new powers." Her eyes flashed white. "Thinking I didn't know you were coming."

Jennifer didn't slow down. Her hand was already up, ready to touch Lilith. Ready to expel her.

"You can't catch me," Lilith taunted.

Jennifer kept going, undeterred. Dean and Sam stormed after her.

"Oh, this is so cute!" Lilith exclaimed, clapping her hands together, still clutching the knife.

Lilith waited until Jennifer was almost close enough to strike her, then she tossed back the head of the little girl she was possessing and released herself. Jennifer recoiled as a thick column of black smoke rose from the girl and slipped between the rafters.


	95. 2x06, V: Sick and Tired

_Treetop Motor Lodge,_

_Kilburn, Pennsylvania._

_That night._

After several minutes of convincing himself that it would be okay to leave Jennifer alone in their motel room while she took a shower, Dean stepped outside and closed the door behind him. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and kept his head down as followed the sidewalk to the vending area.

He was tired.

It had been a horrible day. A horrible week. A horrible year. It'd been one thing after another with them. One more dire revelation. One more bad thing they couldn't stop. It frustrated him, angered him, and sucked the strength right out of him. The go-get-'em attitude he usually possessed was in short supply. Lately everything they did felt pointless, fruitless, and, though he hated to admit it, out of their control.

Dean dragged himself to the soda machine. He dug a couple of quarters from his pockets and slipped them into the slot. Not caring enough to even look at his selection, he pressed a random button.

The machine did nothing.

He pushed a different button. Grapico.

Nothing.

He grunted and slid his hands over all the buttons in hopes that _one _of them would work.

None of them did.

Typical. Dean cursed under his breath. He punched the piece of junk as hard as he could. Even more frustrated than before, Dean turned around and came nose to nose with Castiel.

"Holy crap, man," Dean groaned after recovering from the initial shock. "What's your deal? You gotta stop sneakin' up on people like that."

"I apologize."

Dean drew in a sharp, deep breath. He didn't bother covering up his annoyance when he asked, "What are you doin' here?"

"I came to speak with you about the events of this morning."

"Listen, Cas, I'm not really in the mood for a lecture."

Castiel seemed to pick up on Dean's aggravation, but he didn't take the hint to leave. "Lilith killed fifty-two church members in attempts to break a seal. This particular seal required a death toll of sixty. You arrived before she could complete it."

Dean didn't respond.

"Eight more parishioners sought refuge in a back room. You forced Lilith away before she could find them. You saved their lives," Castiel told him, "and you stopped the breaking of this seal."

"Gold star for us," Dean said sarcastically. "What about that fifty-two? They didn't have to die. Couldn't we have stopped the breaking of the seal _before _Lilith got so close to the finish line?"

Castiel started to say something, but Dean cut him off.

"And what _about _Lilith? We didn't _force _her away. She _ran _before Jennifer even had the chance to try her thing. Which means she's still out there, and she's still breaking seals."

"Your efforts do not go unnoticed."

"Efforts? Screw our efforts!" Dean shouted. "What we saw today...that was carnage. I've never seen anything like that. It just about destroyed Jennifer." He ran a hand over his face. "I'm-I'm so sick of losing. Of coming close, but not close enough. Close enough ain't cuttin' it anymore. This is the major leagues." He sighed. "And...I'm tired, man. I don't know what else to do."

"You must not get discouraged, Dean," Castiel said quietly. "There will be other chances."

"Will there? Let's not forget the Doomsday clock's tickin'. We don't have time to sit around waiting on 'other chances'."

Castiel busted out his fiercest stare and used his most intimidating voice. "_They will come._"

Dean knew better than to push that subject any farther. In fact, he was pretty scared to. He glanced away from the angel for a second. The only sounds were chirping crickets and the low hum of the broken soda machine. Dean rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Uh, look, Cas, this is kinda off the wall, but there's something I can't get my mind around."

Castiel was silent, which Dean assumed was a signal to go on.

"Okay, I get why Azazel chose Jennifer to have the Antichrist," Dean said. "At least it makes sense in demon terms, you know, as some sort of sick, twisted irony. Those sons of bitches eat that crap up." He cleared his throat. "And I know _someone _had to, uh, you know…provide the man-juice…"

Castiel just stared.

"But why me?" Dean asked. "What's special about me? Jennifer's got demon blood and all these powers, and I'm just your garden-variety, full-blooded human. I mean, wouldn't somebody like Sam have been more qualified for the job?"

"No," Castiel replied softly. "You were chosen for a reason."

"See, that's the part I don't get. If it just took a normal guy, why did Azazel go to such lengths to hook me and Jennifer up? Why'd he bother giving her premonitions and dreams that would lead her to me, when she coulda just got with any Joe Sixpack down the street?"

A bit suspiciously, Castiel turned away. "I don't know."

"Oh, come on, man. I know you know more than you're tellin' us."

"I _don't _know."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"I'm not buyin' it."

Castiel faced him once more. "You should focus your concentration on Lilith," he not-so-subtly changed the subject. "I will help you when I can."

Dean heard a fluttering sound and realized that Castiel had disappeared, leaving him with more questions than ever.


	96. 2x07, I: On The Road

**A/N**: Well, guys. This is it. First chapter of the last story. I've had _The Good Fight_ almost completely outlined for over a year now, but I didn't realize until recently that the entire story will equal exactly 100 chapters. Sounds like a great place to stop to me. So...here we go. Please tell me what you think!

* * *

**"Carry On Wayward Son"**

**

* * *

**

_Highway 62,_

_Southern Indiana._

_Two Months Later._

The Impala zoomed down the misty two-lane highway under a low hanging, reddish-tinted full moon. Masses of white fog crept across the road before them, forcing Dean to lower his speed. He switched on the wipers in hopes of clearing the cloudy film that had collected on the windshield.

"This sucks," he muttered, glancing at Sam. "Where's the nearest town?"

Sam used his BlackBerry screen to light up the state road map spread out across his lap. "A place called Roldan. Looks like maybe…thirty miles."

Dean huffed. "We've been drivin' forever. I'm sleepy, I'm starving, there's apparently no decent radio stations in the state of Indiana, this damn fog's about to drive me insane..." He sighed heavily. "And I'm starving."

"Well, Dean, I guess you'll just have to hold out for another thirty miles," Sam told him, annoyed. They'd been surrounded by nothing but open fields for what seemed like hours, with no service stations or roadside diners in sight. Judging by the hazy view up ahead- more winding road lined with more empty farmland- that wasn't changing any time soon.

A guitar riff sounded from a front pocket of Dean's brown leather coat. Keeping his eyes on the foggy road, he fished out his ringing cell phone and checked the caller ID. Jennifer. "Hey, babe," he answered.

"Hey," her voice greeted him. "Where are you?"

"Middle of nowhere, Indiana. Should be about four and a half hours away from Columbus. How are you and Bobby makin' it?"

About a week ago, demonic omens had started cropping up around Columbus, Ohio. Dean had talked Jennifer, who was just over eight months pregnant, into staying with Bobby while he and Sam looked into it. "Oh, we're making it just fine," Jennifer told him. "We've been playing a lot of Scrabble."

"Sounds…fun."

"Sure. You and Sam are out hunting demons, trying to stop the Apocalypse and save the world, and I'm trying to convince Bobby that 'vamoose' is a real word."

Dean made a face. "Well, at least you're safe. And I'm sure Bobby's enjoying the company."

"I guess. He's been very sweet. He even cooked supper for me tonight."

"Wow. What'd he cook?"

"A pot roast. It was good too." She sighed. "Anyway, I was just calling to make sure the two of you are okay. Call me when you stop for the night, alright?"

"I will."

"And tell Sam I said hey."

"Okay."

"Be careful. I love you."

"Love you too."

"Bye, Dean."

Dean clapped his phone shut and returned it to his pocket. "Jennifer says hey." He rolled his eyes. "_Again_. I think that's the third time today."

"She's just worried about you."

"I know. And I'm happy she's checking in." Dean eased up on the accelerator and squinted as he peered through the windshield. "Hey, look."

A pink-red neon sign for the Avalon Diner beamed through the fog up ahead, advertising their burgers, fries, and shakes in the style of the 1950's.

He pressed the gas twice as hard and sped toward the restaurant. He whipped the Impala into the parking lot and stopped next to a silver Volkswagen Jetta, the only other car around.

Sam had already folded up the road map and begun exiting the car when he noticed the engine was still running and Dean was still sitting there.

"Okay," Dean said, pulling out his wallet. He shucked out a twenty and extended it toward Sam. "Get me the biggest cheeseburger they've got with bacon and extra onions, some fries, and a Coke or somethin'."

Sam's eyebrows arched. "You're just gonna sit here? While I go on a burger-run for you?"

"Pretty much."

"Dude. I'm not your manservant." Sam defiantly tossed the twenty back at his brother. "Go get it yourself."

"Come on, Sam."

"Uh…why?"

Dean grinned slyly. "Because I'm the oldest and you have to do what I say."

Knowing Dean would keep using their age difference as his defense, Sam gave in and snatched the cash from his older brother's fingers. "Fine. But don't even _ask _for pie."

"Wow. You really are psychic."

Sam opened the car door and stepped out, looking incredibly irritated and fussy-faced.

"Hey, Sam, if they _do _have pie-"

Sam slammed the door before Dean had a chance to finish his request. He huffed all the way across the foggy parking lot to the front entrance. The door beeped as he pulled it open and crossed the threshold of the small, dingy café, where he was welcomed by the smell of old frying oil and grilled onions. The air itself felt thick and greasy against his skin. He wrinkled his nose and stepped up to the sterling silver countertop to place his order.

That's when he saw the bodies.

Three restaurant employees, two guys and an older woman in matching once-white aprons, lay sprawled on the checkered floor behind the counter. Blood from their sliced jugulars pooled around them.

Quickly and quietly, Sam backed toward the exit. He twisted around and, for the first time, noticed a customer sitting with his back to Sam at the booth by the door. This customer sat alone, sipping from a straw in what looked like an old-fashioned strawberry milkshake. The stranger, a middle-aged man with a wide forehead and a cleft chin, turned slowly to look at Sam and flashed an unsettling smile.

"Howdy, Sam." His blue eyes switched to bright yellow. "Guess who's back?"


	97. 2x07, II: The Diner

As Sam stared into the demon's gleaming yellow eyes, he gulped. This was it. Their chance had come at last. Azazel was _this _close and they had the Colt.

No. _Dean _had the Colt.

And Dean was outside in the parking lot, clueless, waiting for Sam to deliver his bacon cheeseburger.

Sam darted for the exit in some wild attempt to run to his brother and was stopped by two black-eyed demons who'd appeared out of nowhere to guard the door.

"You're not going anywhere, Sambo," Azazel informed him casually, stirring his strawberry milkshake with a striped plastic straw.

Sam slowly twisted back toward him. His face twitched as he tried to pull himself together. "So," he said, acting braver than he felt. "You finally got the guts to come back."

"Well, no guts, no glory, right?" Azazel grinned. "Besides, we both know that, once again, _you _don't have the Colt. And let's face it, you're not much of a threat without it."

Sam's heart pounded so violently he could barely breathe.

Azazel took a long, slurpy sip of his shake and set it on the table. "Tasty." He smiled with satisfaction. "So, Sam, I assume you know why I'm here. I sure hope so. We already tried this once, the night Dean got hitched. I told you then that 'take two' would be coming up sooner or later."

Sam said nothing.

"I hear you've met a couple of my relatives," Azazel said. "Seems like talking with them has done you no good, since the body count keeps rising. Let me go ahead and tell ya right now, if you don't jump on the bandwagon today, the number's gonna keep going up."

Sam gulped.

"I've gotta admit, Sam, I'm surprised you're keeping yourself together. All these nice people who've died because of your disobedience…your little lady, those good folks down at the Roadhouse, the innocent neighbors in Friendship, those students at Langston College. Oh, and most recently, the Three Stooges." Azazel cocked his head toward the corpses of the three diner employees. "You should have one heck of a guilty conscience there, Sammy."

"I'm not the one that killed any of them."

"No, but you let them die, didn't ya?" Azazel lifted the milkshake from the tabletop. "You did all but pull the trigger." He smiled evilly as he brought the straw to his lips and slurped.

* * *

Dean stopped drumming his thumbs against the steering wheel to Aerosmith's "Back in the Saddle" to glance at his watch again. It was nearly ten; Sam had been inside the diner for a ridiculously long time. Hoping for a view inside that would provide some answers, he craned his neck to peek through the windows. Too much foggy condensation had formed on the restaurant's glass panes to allow him to see anything. Going off a gut feeling, he pulled out his flip phone and called Sam's cell.

The call went straight to voicemail.

Something wasn't right. Dean could feel it.

He shut off the engine, pocketed the keys, and climbed out of the '67 Chevy into the misty night air. He trudged across the parking lot, still peering through the windows, still unable to see anything but clouded glass. The door beeped as he stepped inside.

Initially, he was impressed by the diner's surprisingly lavish décor. Though the outside of the building was a typical roadside greasy spoon, the inside featured full-blown rococo design. Cream-colored walls trimmed in gilded molding. Fancy white columns. Enormous wall paintings with elaborate golden frames. Large ornamental mirrors. Dozens of small gold angel sculptures.

But no menu boards. No tables. No kitchen. No signs of Sam.

This place wasn't a restaurant. Dean wouldn't have been surprised to learn it was the set of TBN. He was just deciding he'd crossed over into the Twilight Zone when a familiar voice greeted him from behind.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean turned. Castiel stood beside him, wearing his tan trench coat and a more somber expression than usual. "Cas," Dean breathed. "What's going on? Where's Sam?"

Castiel didn't reply.

That's when Dean noticed another man in the room. A balding, round-faced older man in a spiffy gray suit with a matching tie. This man gave Dean an eerie little smile that was at the same time both cheery and sinister. "Why, hello, Dean," the man said. "We meet at last."

Dean instinctively took a step backwards. He didn't like the vibes this guy was sending. "Who are you?"

The man beamed. "I'm Zachariah."

"Where's Sam?" Dean asked again. After another glance around the extravagantly decorated room, he added, "And where the hell am I?"

"Well," Zachariah said, grinning obnoxiously, "not in Kansas. I can tell you that."

Dean frowned.

"You could call this place…a green room," Zachariah said. He stepped toward Dean. "We're closing in on the grand finale, Dean, and we need to keep you safe 'til show time."

"By 'we', you mean…?"

Zachariah smiled. "The good guys."

"Right. And why do you feel the need to keep me safe?"

"Like I said, we're closing in on the grand finale. Seal number sixty-five has fallen, and the last one's set to break tonight."

Dean gulped. "Then why are 'the good guys' standing around with their thumbs up their asses instead of stopping Lilith before Lucifer busts out?"

Zachariah's seemingly good-natured smile reappeared. "You do have a way with words, don't you? That crackerjack attitude…I like it." He slipped his hands into the pockets of his suit coat. "Frankly, it's adorable."

Dean pursed his lips and glared at him. "Why don't you quit stalling and get to the freakin' point?"

"Lilith…cannot be stopped," Zachariah said at last.

Dean's eyes rolled back into his head. "Yeah, I get that by now-"

"No, you don't get it," Zachariah argued. "Disregard whatever BS our little friend Castiel told you during his short-lived rebellious phase, before we plucked his tattle-telling rear-end from the field. Lilith's _going _to break the final seal."

Shocked, Dean turned to Castiel, who stood in the corner staring guiltily at the floor. "What's he talking about?"

Castiel remained silent.

"Look, kiddo, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but there's no stopping what's coming," Zachariah told Dean. "The Apocalypse is upon us. There's nothing you can do."

"Oh yeah?" Dean challenged him. "Watch me. I'll go stop Lilith myself." A 180 degree turn then revealed most unfortunately that the door he'd come in through had been replaced by a wall. There was no exit.

Zachariah chuckled. "I really do admire your spirit, Dean, but I'm sorry. You're staying put for now."

"Sam. Sam can stop this. Where the hell is he?"

"I suspect he's still at that filthy grease joint you left him in," Zachariah answered.

"Take me to him."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Well, put some kinda heavenly whammy on him and zap him here."

"I'm afraid I can't do that either."

"Why not?"

"Quit worrying about Sam already," Zachariah told him. "You have larger concerns."

"Such as?"

"Your destiny."

"What the hell's with you people?" Dean asked, rolling his eyes again. "You sound like a buncha broken records."

Zachariah went on, undeterred. "Castiel was right about one thing. You were chosen for a reason."

"And what reason is that?"

The angel heaved a sigh. "All in good time."

Dean huffed. "You know what? Why don't you cram all your vague, mysterious mumbo jumbo and give me some real answers?"

Zachariah made a face. "You want answers?" He removed his hands from his pockets and folded his arms across his chest. "How about _this _for answers. You, Dean, were chosen to slay Lucifer and the Antichrist."

Dean just stared.

"Yep. That's it. Your destiny in a nuthsell," Zachariah told him. "It's a great honor, really. Though for you it's a bit of a troubling situation, considering who Lucifer and the Antichrist are."

"Who they are _supposed _to be," Castiel corrected him quietly.

Zachariah shot him a look.

"That's the damn destiny you S.O.B.s keep talking about?" Dean raised his voice. "I'm supposed to kill my family?"

"Well, that's the downside," said Zachariah. "On the upside, you stop the Apocalypse, kill the Devil, and save the world."

"There's gotta be another way."

Zachariah shrugged his shoulders. "'Fraid there's not. Your destiny's been as long foretold as Armageddon itself. It's even mentioned in the Good Book. Mark 13:12- '_The brother shall betray the brother to death, and the father the son_'. That little prophecy's talking about you, hotshot."

Dean was speechless.

"But hey! When it's all over, Dean, your rewards will be unimaginable. Peace, happiness…I'll even personally see to it that you and Jennifer have an Oprah-sized mansion in paradise, where the two of you can spend all kinds of quality time together for all eternity." He winked. "How's that sound?"

"Heartless," Dean finally said.

Zachariah chuckled. "You say that now. Just wait." He shook his head, laughing heartily. "Well, hate to run just as things are getting good, but I gotta. Got lots of business to attend to tonight. I'm sure you understand. Anywho, kick back, Dean. Relax. Make yourself at home. Help yourself to the refreshments." He snapped his fingers and a buffet-style table covered in everything from baked Christmas ham to double bacon cheeseburgers appeared before them. "Ciao."

Zachariah vanished as quickly as the food had sprung up.

* * *

Azazel finished off his milkshake and patted his lips with a napkin. "So, Sam. I guess we should get on down to business." He slid out of the booth and stood to his feet, leveling his eyes with Sam's. "There's only one seal left. The other sixty-five have already been broken. You and your big bro sure did a sorry job stopping Lilith, didn't ya? I really have to thank you for that."

Sam glared at him.

"Anyway," Azazel said, "It's all scheduled to end tonight. Or _begin_, I should say. Hell's last Twitter update says Lilith and her groupies are in Ilchester making the final preparations for Lucifer's arrival as we speak."

"They shouldn't get ahead of themselves," Sam bluffed. "That last seal's gotta break first, right?"

"It sure does. But that won't be a problem." He cocked his head to the left, thinking. "_Unless_…you or one of your little hunter pals gets to Lilith first and wastes her before she can finish the job." His lips morphed into a disconcerting grin. "But really, Sammy, let's look at the facts. I've got you trapped here. And Dean, Bobby? They don't have a clue about what's going on at the moment. And all the other hunters who know about Lilith are dead now. Again, thanks to you." His grin widened. "Basically, what I'm saying is…no one's there to stop Lilith, so breaking this last seal will be a breeze."

Sam forced himself to stand up a little straighter. "Then what? Even if Lucifer rises, he can't do anything until I say yes to being his vessel."

"Yeppers. Why else would we be talking?"

"You better find somebody else. I'll never give the Devil my consent."

Azazel rolled his golden eyes. "Honestly, Sam, give it a rest. It's inevitable. You _will _say yes to Lucifer. You may just need a little poking and prodding in the right direction." His eyes glimmered with a perverse excitement. "That's where I come in."

* * *

Now that the two of them were alone in the beautiful room, Dean focused on Castiel. The trench-coat-wearing angel remained in the corner by a giant-sized golden harp, purposefully keeping his eyes away from Dean's.

"You son of a bitch," Dean muttered. He strode toward him. "You lied to me."

Slowly, Castiel lifted his icy blue eyes. "No," he disagreed softly. His voice was hollow. Melancholy. "I never lied."

"You made me think we could stop this."

"We _can _stop this."

Dean hesitated. "You knew, didn't you?"

Castiel looked slightly confused.

"When I asked you why I was destined to have this kid with Jennifer, you knew it was because of that damn prophecy. Because I'm the link between Lucifer and the Antichrist, the one who's supposed to take them out because some dude had a vision about it a million years ago."

"You didn't need to know. The 'prophecy' is merely a string of words conceived centuries ago. I still believe you have the power to overcome-"

"How? How can I do a damn thing about anything, Cas? Jennifer's on the other side of the country, I don't know where Sam is, Lilith's about to free Lucifer, and I'm stuck here in-in freakin' TBN-land."

The angel shifted his gaze to the floor again.

"Look at me!" Dean demanded. Castiel reluctantly followed is instructions. "You were gonna help me, remember?"

Castiel gazed at him.

"So help me now," Dean pleaded. "Tell me which way's out of the magic wardrobe. Get me back to Sam."

"If I do that, we will all be hunted. We'll be killed."

Dean swallowed hard. "If there was ever anything worth dying for," he said, "this is it."

For a long time, Castiel didn't respond. He stood there, as rigid as ever, staring at Dean so intensely that Dean began to feel uncomfortable. Something in his eyes changed suddenly. A newfound boldness flickered across his pupils. He'd followed his convictions and made his decision. He moved closer to Dean and in a faint, rushed whisper, he said, "You must go. Sam's in danger."

Dean's eyes widened as he listened carefully. "What do you mean?"

"It's Azazel. He has your brother. Do you have the Colt?"

"Yeah." It was tucked safely in an interior pocket of his coat.

"Take it with you. You'll need it."

"What about you? What are you gonna do."

Castiel's voice dropped even lower. "I have to stop Lilith."

Dean arched his eyebrows. "Oh, you finally found a way, huh?"

"There is no time for sarcasm. Azazel is planning to trick Sam into killing Lilith."

"And what's so wrong with letting that bitch die? You still haven't made that clear."

Castiel's face inched closer to his. "Lilith's death is the final seal. When she dies, Lucifer rises."

Dean just looked at him.

"That is why she must be kept alive. And that is why I have to move now."

"What are you gonna do? Some kinda exorcism?"

"No," Castiel replied. "Simply sending her back to Hell won't be enough. She'll find a way out again. There's a ritual, much like the one used to lock Lucifer in his cage."

"You're gonna lock her in a cage?"

"Yes."

"That's genius, Cas."

"…Thank you. But we must act quickly. Go to Sam."

Castiel raised his hand to Dean's forehead and pressed his fingers against his skin.


	98. 2x07, III: No Way Out

**A/N: **I was wondering if any of you happened to catch _Ghosthunters _this week. They went to Sloss Furnaces, which you may remember from my story, "This Haunted House is Haunted", the one where Jennifer's cousin is killed in a haunted house. I found TAPS's experience at Sloss to be pretty cool, so I thought I'd mention it. Also, I've been getting some of the nicest comments from you guys, and I just wanted to say thank you. You're awesome! :)

* * *

_Avalon Diner,_

_Southern Indiana._

"So. On with the poking and prodding," Azazel told Sam as he paced a circle around him in the center of the empty diner. "In an hour or so, Lucy's gonna be topside and he'll need a place to call home. How about you make this easy and put your house up for sale right now?"

Sam shook his head. "Not interested."

"Of course not. You Winchesters hate easy." Azazel clasped his hands together in front of him. "No worries. I'm used to it by now." He circled Sam in silence for several seconds. "I tell you what I'm gonna do, Sam. I'm gonna make you _one _last offer."

Sam waited.

"Either you say yes right now or…"

"Or _what_?"

"Well, Sammy, you know my style. I don't do those pesky fill-in-the blank questions or those drawn-out essay answer things. Gosh, those are just _annoying_. All my answers are multiple choice."

"So I've noticed."

Azazel grinned. "Yet it feels like you keep leaving questions blank."

Behind the yellow-eyed demon's back, Dean suddenly appeared. Sam gasped, but tried to do so discreetly. He struggled to keep his eyes on the demon's face as Dean drew the Colt from his jacket.

Unfortunately, Azazel could sense Dean. He didn't bother continuing his characteristic monologue. Instead, grinning, he raised a hand. "A boy shouldn't play with Daddy's guns," he said. With a flick of his wrist, the Colt flung from Dean's grasp and hit the dingy tile floor. Azazel twisted around to face Dean and thrust his open palm toward him, psychically slamming him into the bar counter.

Sam dove for the gun, but Azazel immediately turned and shoved his hand toward Sam. In a second, Sam was pinned to the counter next to his brother.

Azazel clapped as he glanced at the Winchesters in their vulnerable positions.

"Points for effort, Dean," Azazel said, staring down at him. "But all in all, a disappointing performance. Why don't you come back in and take it from the top?"

"I'm gonna kill you," Dean snarled.

"Oh, Dean!" Azazel poked his bottom lip out and grabbed his heart dramatically. "You cut me deep. Why must you say such hurtful things? Especially when this is such a special moment for us. It's been what, four, five years since I've last seen you? Don't think we've spoken since right before your Pops traded in his soul for yours."

"Shut up."

"I didn't even get a chance to congratulate you when you and Jenny got hitched," the demon went on. "Pity. I was thrilled for you crazy kids." He grinned. "I'm sure by now you've figured out just _how _thrilled I was over the occasion. There's just something so satisfying about setting two people up, then watching them fall in love and get married… Really, it's a grand feeling."

Dean glowered at him as he struggled to move against the demon's psychic hold.

"Anyway. On with the show." Azazel returned his attention to Sam. "Where was I? Multiple choices, right? Yes. You know, I'm really glad Dean turned up when he did, because that'll spice up my little spill."

"Wonderful," Dean huffed.

"Say _yes_, Sam," Azazel said, "or: A- Your big bro drops dead. Well, more like he gets ripped to pieces by hellhounds, but you get the point. B- Dean's little lady kicks it. You can bet your bottom dollar that'll be bloody too. Or C- All of the above. Mr. and Mrs. Winchester go out together. Romantic isn't it? Dean and Jennifer. Like Romeo and Juliet. Tristan and Isolde. Only it lacks the same poetic ring."

Sam gulped. "You're bluffing. You won't lay a finger on either of them. You need them for your _other_ plan. To produce the Antichrist."

"Hmm. You make an excellent point there, Sam. I _do _need them for that," said Azazel. "However, common sense will tell you that Dean's already done his part, which makes him just as useless to me as Jennifer will be once the kid's born. Which, by the way, might be sooner than you'd think."

"What are you talking about?" Dean asked.

Azazel smiled. "Things at Bobby's are about to get interesting."

* * *

_Sioux Falls, South Dakota._

Bobby leaned against the telephone-covered wall of his dimly-lit kitchen, sighing deeply into the mouthpiece of the only phone that was not marked with a piece of tape and a government acronym.

"I hear Paul Snyder's lookin' into the disturbances in Arizona, and the Winchester boys are doin' the same in Ohio," Bobby said softly into the phone. "Let me know how it goes in West Virginia. And take care of yourself, Rufus. I don't know what all this means."

He placed the receiver on its hook and sighed again. He'd just spoken with Rufus Turner, a fellow hunter who was heading to Smithville, West Virginia, after a sudden surge in demonic omens there. The weirdest part was, a few hours ago, omens had appeared all over the states, from one end of the country to the other. California, Idaho, Florida, Maryland. Bobby had a sick feeling in his stomach just thinking about the implications.

He left the kitchen and moved to his living room. There he found Jennifer stretched across his ratty old plaid sofa, staring at her cell phone. She was looking at the device so intently she barely noticed his presence.

"I, uh, I gotta deck of playin' cards," Bobby said to her. "You up for Go Fish?"

She peered up at him and forced a smile.

"Figured Scrabble might be gettin' old." He shoved his hands into the pockets of his acid washed jeans. "Besides, I'm runnin' outta words I know how to spell."

Jennifer laughed. She appreciated his dry humor right now.

"You need to do somethin' to get your mind off o' things," Bobby said, eyeing her cell phone. "Worryin' ain't gonna help anything."

"I know," she admitted. "I just hate sitting here, wondering if they're okay. Dean said he'd call me when they stopped for the night, but he hasn't called yet."

"Maybe they ain't stopped yet," Bobby said in a voice that made her feel like a real idjit.

She leaned forward and set her Motorola on the coffee table. "I know I'm being-"

The floor lamp at the end of the sofa blinked off, then back on.

Jennifer looked at Bobby.

The floor lamp blinked again. Then the ceiling fixture flickered.

The room began to feel unusually cold.

Jennifer wasn't the only one experiencing an ominous premonition this time. Bobby dashed to her side. "Come on," he told her, helping her up. "We've gotta go."

"Where?"

"Some place safe."

With an arm around her waist, Bobby hurriedly guided her to a staircase that led down to the basement. He pulled a rusty metal string dangling near the doorway to click on a single light bulb suspended above them. Just as the lamps upstairs, the bulb blinked on and off, on and off.

Jennifer's oversized abdomen gave her trouble with the stairs and slowed them down, but they finally reached their destination. An enormous iron door loomed before them. Bobby pulled it open to reveal a cylindrical iron room. Inside was a desk covered with books. A cot. An arsenal of weapons and rock salt. A poster of Bo Derek in a swimsuit and dreds.

Bobby led Jennifer into the room and closed the door behind them. "Walls are lined in iron. Coated with salt," he informed her. "Nothin' out there's gettin' in here."

She glanced up at the round ceiling. A large extraction fan hovered overhead behind a custom-made grill in the shape of a Devil's Trap. "Wow, Bobby, this is…amazing."

Thunder rumbled outside, ringing throughout the metal walls.

"Well," he told her, "make yourself at home."

A painful contraction seized Jennifer's body. She grabbed her midsection, surprised by the powerful sensation.

Bobby noticed the pained expression on her face. "What is it?"

"Nothing. I'm okay," Jennifer said, her voice trembling slightly. When a second contraction came, a terrible realization dawned upon her. "Oh, no."

Bobby's eyes gaped open. "What do you mean 'oh, no'?"

A third contraction came, more intense than the first two. "Oh, _no_," she repeated, backing toward the cot.

Bobby ran to her and helped lower her down. "Don't tell me…"

"It's too soon," Jennifer breathed. "Maybe it's a false alarm." Then she felt something inside her pop. Followed by a gush of fluid. "_Crap._"

* * *

Dean's heart kicked into high gear as he glared at Azazel. "What the _hell _do you mean things are about to get 'interesting'?"

"Well, you see," Azazel said, "Jennifer's water just broke."

"What?"

"Yep," said the demon. "Lucky for her, I think it'll be an easy delivery." He grinned. "A _fast _one, that's for sure."

* * *

"Bobby," Jennifer gasped. "Bobby, I'm so sorry."

"Don't apologize," Bobby told her, trying his best to remain calm for her sake. "Ain't really somethin' you got any control over."

"I know, but-" She squeezed her eyes shut as a longer, more severe contraction came and went. "Gosh, this is terrible. Terrible timing. How can we get to the hospital?"

Thunder bellowed so loudly around them, they might as well have been outside.

Bobby face paled. "…We can't."

"What?"

"We can't leave. Demons musta surrounded the house."

Jennifer studied his bearded face carefully. "You, um, you don't seem too surprised about that."

He glanced away.

Her breath caught in her throat as another contraction took hold. Once it was over, she shakily asked, "What's going on?"

"I think you've got enough to worry about-"

"Bobby, what's going on out there?"

He glanced at her. Her damp, reddening face bore a grimace that told him arguing was not a wise idea. "There's more omens than the ones the boys are lookin' into in Ohio. Demons are poppin' up all over, from sea to shinin' sea," he told her. "I don't know what it means, but it ain't good. It's like they're gettin' ready for somethin'."

As another contraction swept over her, she gripped the side of the cot. A wave of nausea hit her. Her eyes began to grow misty. "And Dean and Sam are out there in the middle of it all?"

"They'll be fine. They're the best at what they do, and you know it."

Jennifer eased back onto the cot and drew in a deep breath. She began to shiver. The urge to push suddenly presented itself to her. "Bobby," she said, peering up at him with wide, panicky eyes. "It wasn't a false alarm. If we're stuck here, you're gonna have to help me."

"J-just keep your legs together."

"I'm serious, Bobby."

Bobby winced. Rubbed his forehead uncomfortably. "Okay."

* * *

"You're lying," Dean argued with the demon. "The baby isn't due for another-"

"Doesn't matter," Azazel said. "The kid'll be just fine. And the second that little youngster shoots outta her healthy and strong, Jennifer's head is on the chopping block right next to her loving husband's." He looked at Sam. "So, if I were you, Sammy, I'd reconsider."

* * *

Frantically, Bobby pulled a set of clean sheets from a small cabinet and brought them to Jennifer's side. He rolled up the sleeves of his plaid flannel shirt and knelt beside her, trying to convince himself that delivering a baby should be much less frightening than an exorcism or a vampire hunt or a one-on-one face-off with a wendigo. Despite his self-coaching, he didn't remember being this scared in a long, long time.

He could only imagine how scared Jennifer was. She was stretched out across the cot, screaming over the roaring thunder, already pushing.

"Call Dean," she shouted at him. "Please. Please, call him. I have to talk to him."

Bobby reached for his cell phone. Clicked Dean's number. No answer. Upon reaching his voicemail, Bobby said, "Uh, hey, Dean. It's me. We've, uh, we've got a situation. Think the baby's on it's way. Call back when you get this." He hung up and tried Sam's cell. Got his voicemail. Bobby put the phone away and turned to Jennifer.

"They didn't answer?" she cried.

He shook his head. "Probably outta range. Try to relax."

"_Really? _Try to _relax?_"

He didn't know what to say.

She screamed in pain as she pushed. Gasping for breath, she managed to shout, "Bobby!"

Ever so hesitantly, he moved to her feet and lifted the sheet that covered her. He forced his facial expression to something other than horrified, which was what it instinctively was. He gulped. "I-I think I see the head." Lowering his voice, he then muttered, "Lord, I hope that's his head."

"What?"

"I can see his head alright."

"Should I push?"

"Do I look like a doula to you?" he asked gruffly. "I don't know what the hell I'm doin'!"

"I don't either!"

"I guess if it feels...natural to push…then push."

She pushed.

* * *

"There's gotta be another option," Sam said.

"Nope," replied Azazel. "That's it, Sammy. Dean dies, Jennifer dies, or everybody dies. Pick and choose. _Or _you can say yes to Lucifer. Then everybody lives."

"Except for the rest of the planet, right?" Dean asked from his spot against the counter. "But who cares about them, anyway?"

Azazel shrugged. "Who, indeed? Anyway, clock's ticking, Sam. Hurry up and make a choice." He folded his arms across his chest and waited. "What'll it be? A, B, or C?"

Sam thought for a long while before saying, "D."

The demon rolled his eyes.

"There _is _an alternative," Sam said. "Lucifer can't rise if he doesn't have a vessel. We've established that."

Dean listened attentively, worrying about where his younger brother was going with this.

Sam sucked in a deep breath. "If I die, that should take care of things."

"Oh, now we're suicidal, are we?" Azazel shook his head. "Come on, Sam, you think I'd let anything happen to you?"

"Once I'm dead, you can't bring be back. Demons can't resurrect humans without deal-making involved."

"…True. But that wouldn't be a problem. Something tells me Dean would sell his soul in a heartbeat to bring you back."

"No," Sam argued. "He wouldn't. Not knowing what would happen if he did."

"Sam," Dean cut in. "No."

A grin stretched the thin lips of Azazel's vessel. "This is great," he said. "It really is. But I should stop you. See, demons can't resurrect humans without deal-making, but _angels _can. And although most people forget it, Lucifer's an angel. Even if you heroically sacrificed yourself for the greater good, Lucifer would only bring you back once Lilith opens the door and lets him out."

Dean and Sam shared a look.

Azazel cocked an eyebrow. "You're in a real pickle, aren't you, Sam?"


	99. 2x07, IV: Defeated

_St. Mary's Convent, _

_Ilchester, Maryland._

Deep inside the abandoned convent in a candlelit chamber, a band of black-eyed demons stood in reverent silence. They watched as their leader, Lilith, who possessed a lovely blonde-haired young woman in an elegant white dress, prepared the stone altar for the ritual that would break the final seal and free Lucifer.

She placed a chalice full of fresh human blood at the center of the altar and smiled at her minions. "It is almost time. Soon he will stand before us, and the beginning will come."

Her followers nodded with pleasure.

She turned away from them to retrieve the last of the necessary items for the ritual. When she twisted back toward them, she gasped. Each and everyone of her followers lay motionless on the ground. In the midst of it all stood a powerful-looking man in a tan trench coat.

"Hello, Lilith," said Castiel. "Or…should I say _goodbye_?" He raised a hand in her direction, closed his eyes, and began an Enochian incantation. "_Bvtmon…tabges…babalon._"

The candles inside the sanctuary snuffed out. With a great rumble, the stone floor parted. Where the floor had been, a monstrous black gorge appeared. A gust of wind rose from the massive hole, pulling Lilith toward its rim.

"Castiel!" a voice bellowed from the doorway.

He turned. Zachariah was behind him. So was Baradiel, the angel who had sent him back to Heaven for his last acts of disobedience.

"_What _do you think you're doing?" Zachariah demanded.

Before the other angels could stop him, Castiel shoved Lilith into the pit. The sides of the gorge raced toward each other, swallowing Lilith in a brilliant burst of light.

Zachariah and Baradiel ran toward him.

But Castiel was prepared. He'd already drawn an angel-banishing sigil on the wall. He withdrew a dagger from his coat, sliced the blade into his palm, and pressed his hand into the center of the symbol. His pursuers vanished in an instant.

* * *

_Sioux Falls, South Dakota. _

By now, all modesty and awkwardness was gone. The only thing that both Bobby and Jennifer cared about was getting this baby out of her.

"Okay, darlin'. You're doing just fine. His head's almost out," Bobby coached her. "Come on, push. Push!"

A couple of dreadfully painful pushes later, the baby's head forced its way out. Another push and its shoulders came, then the rest slid out with ease.

The sight of the newborn took Bobby's breath away. His fingers trembled as he wrapped a clean towel around the slippery baby and began cleaning him up. "It's-it's a boy," he stuttered. "And I'll be damned if he don't look just like Dean."

Jennifer released a laugh. Tears filled her eyes as Bobby placed her tiny, bluish, blood-drenched son in her arms. "Oh, my gosh," she cried. "He's perfect."

As she admired her son's fuzzy little head, his teeny fingers and toes, his Dean-like nose, and his perfectly-shaped Dean-like lips, all the doubts, the bad feelings, the lack of joy she had experienced…it all vanished. She loved him immediately, and the thought of his evil destiny never entered her mind. It didn't matter any more.

* * *

_Avalon Diner._

"Come on, Sam. Make up your mind," Azazel urged the youngest Winchester, becoming increasingly impatient. "The midnight hour is close at hand."

Sam's heart hammered in his chest. Overwhelmed with indecision, he glanced desperately at his brother.

"Don't do it, Sammy," Dean breathed.

"Make your choice, Sam, before I make it for you."

Sam could almost feel his heart in his throat. "No." His voice sounded watery. "I'll never say yes."

Though Sam's words obviously annoyed the demon, they did not surprise him. "Okie doke," he said. "I know I said I'd sic Dean with hellhounds, but I've got a much better idea." He stooped down to the floor and picked up the Colt. "Pretty embarrassing how you duds keep losing this."

Instinctively, both brothers jerked forward in an attempt to stop him, but Azazel's psychic hold kept them trapped against the side of the counter beneath the row of barstools. They watched in horror as the demon turned the antique gun over in his hands. He ran a finger delicately along the barrel.

"Last I heard, there was only one bullet left," Azazel said. "One very special bullet that you two, _sadly_, were saving for little ole me. One very special bullet that I'm gonna pop in Dean's dome." He aimed the muzzle at Dean. "Sucks to be you."

Before Azazel could even lift his thumb to cock the gun, his two black-eyed henchmen guarding the door collapsed with simultaneous thuds. He glanced in their direction to see what had happened.

A third imposing figure stood in the shadowed doorway. The figure moved into the diner, into the light. It was Castiel.

"Leave these boys alone," said the angel in his most intimidating voice.

Slowly, Azazel lowered the Colt and turned to face him. "Well, lookie here," he said, smirking. "An angel, a demon, Michael the Archangel, and the Devil, or their vessels anyway, all together in a diner. Sounds like a bad joke."

Castiel stepped forward, glaring dangerously at Azazel.

"Howdy, Clarence," the yellow-eyed demon greeted him. "Got your wings yet?"

"Let the Winchesters go," Castiel said.

Azazel held up the Colt. "Do you know if this thing works on angels? Because you've only been here five seconds, and you're already getting on my nerves."

"There is no need to keep them here," Castiel said. "It is over. Lilith has been stopped. The last seal cannot be broken."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"You are wasting your time with them, Azazel."

"The only one wasting time here is you." The demon raised the Colt and pointed it at Dean.

Castiel threw himself at the demon and tackled him, knocking the gun from his hand and breaking his psychic grip on the Winchesters.

Sam and Dean were free.

Castiel held onto Azazel long enough for the boys to act.

Dean was closest to the Colt. He pushed himself off the floor and lunged for the gun. His fingers closed around the cool metal barrel. Once the handle was firmly within his grasp, he aimed at the demon. Cocked the hammer. Pulled the trigger.

The bullet struck the center of the yellow-eyed demon's chest. Castiel let go and stepped away.

Complete shock marked Azazel's face as he looked down at himself, then back up at Dean. His golden eyes blazed like fire. His head jerked backwards. His body began to convulse. Violent flashes of red and gold light ignited his insides, lighting up the skeleton of his vessel like an x-ray. At last his body went rigid. The corpse slid to the tile floor.

The yellow-eyed demon was dead.

The Colt felt oddly light in Dean's hand as his arm fell limply to his side. He towered over the lifeless body of Azazel's final vessel, unsure of what to do. What to say. He felt a lump in his throat and tears in his eyes. He turned to his brother. He opened his mouth, wet his lips, and in an unsteady voice said, "Well, check that off the to-do list."

Sam's mouth gaped open as he stared at him, awestruck. "You…you did it."

Dean swallowed. His lips curved into a shaky smile. "I just grabbed the gun and fired." He turned to the angel. "It's Cas we should be thanking."

Sam nodded with enthusiasm.

"You're welcome," said Castiel. "Now we should go before someone finds us. Our work here is finished."


	100. 2x07, V: Don't Look Back

**A/N: **I'm excited yet sad to post this last chapter. I'm excited I stuck with this story long enough to finish it, but I will **really **miss hearing from you guys! Over the past year, you have encouraged me to keep writing, not only to continue this little _Supernatural _fanfic, but you've motivated me enough to entertain thoughts of writing a novel someday. I can't thank you enough. I don't know if I'll write a sequel. I might write a completely different kind of fanfic. In the meantime, I'd love to see you guys on twitter. I'm twhittsen there too. Take care, everyone! It's been fun!

* * *

_Steiner Medical Center,_

_Sioux Falls, South Dakota._

_The next day._

Dean Winchester was happy.

He'd killed the yellow-eyed demon, the monster who'd murdered his mother in Sam's nursery, the creature he'd spent his whole life hunting. The heartless son of a bitch that had taken the lives of so many people he cared about was finally dead, and he'd been the one to pull the trigger. He'd kept the promise he made to Jennifer in that motel room in Antioch. He'd finished the job his dad had left him.

Now, his younger brother sat in the recliner on the opposite side of the private hospital room, beaming at him. His wife slept peacefully in the bed. And he sat at her bedside, cradling his newborn son in his arms for the first time.

He'd never felt so proud. So fulfilled. Everything was perfect.

_Knock, knock, knock._

"Come in," Sam said, being the one nearest the door.

Jennifer's eyes opened at the noise.

The door pushed inward as Bobby stepped inside.

"Hey, Bobby," Sam said. He stood to his feet and shook the man's hand.

"Picked this up in the gift shop," Bobby said, holding up a cute pastel-colored gift bag with a cartoon stork on the front. White tissue paper with tiny blue diaper pins printed across it filled the open space, hiding the bag's contents. When he saw the brothers eyeing the well-coordinated wrappings questioningly, he clarified, "What? The lady at the counter wrapped it."

Sam grinned. "Of course."

Bobby handed the bag to Jennifer.

"That was so sweet, Bobby," she told him, raising herself up into a sitting position. "Thank you."

Dean tilted his son upward so he could watch his mother unwrap the gift. "Look, Rob, Grandpa Bobby's already spoilin' you."

Jennifer smiled as she removed the tissue paper and pulled out an adorable stuffed giraffe. "Oh, it's so cute!"

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Wow. Mr. Sleepytime Giraffe," he read the tag on the animal's ear. "Did the lady at the counter pick this out too?"

Bobby frowned at him.

Jennifer thanked him once more for the gift as he settled into the other empty chair in the room.

"How're you doin'?" Bobby asked her somewhat hesitantly.

"Great," she replied. "The doctors say you did everything right. I just can't thank you enough."

Dean held the baby close as he looked at Bobby. "Yeah, about that. You actually…_delivered _him?"

Bobby shrugged his shoulders.

"That must have been an incredible experience," Sam said thoughtfully. "What was it like?"

There was a long silence, then Bobby said, "Ever seen _Alien_?"

Sam chuckled. "Wow…"

"Yeah, nice and graphic," Dean said. "Thanks for that, Bobby."

Blushing slightly, Jennifer gave Bobby a chiding look. "Jeez, Bobby. It's not too late to change his name, you know."

It was Bobby's turn to blush. She and Dean had decided to name the baby Robert, whom they would call 'Rob', in honor of him. He didn't let on in front of them, but it had thrilled him to tears.

A few minutes later, Sam ended their cheesy family moment with a question no one had wanted to ask. "So, what happened, Bobby? Those demons that popped up all over. Where'd they go?"

"Back to Hell, I guess," Bobby replied with a sigh. "Seeing as how the Apocalypse got canceled. That musta been what they were here for. Waitin' for Lucifer to give 'em orders."

"Thank goodness he never got the chance," Jennifer said.

Bobby started to say something else, but a faint fluttering sound distracted him. Everyone glanced up. Castiel had appeared at the foot of the bed and was now staring at them.

"Hey, Cas," Dean welcomed him.

Without acknowledging Dean's greeting, Castiel marched forward and pressed his right hand against the center of Dean's chest and his left hand against Jennifer's.

"What the hell?" Dean gasped.

"It's for protection," Castiel explained, letting his arms drop to his sides.

"_What's _for protection?" Dean demanded. "What'd you just do?"

"I carved Enochian sigils into your ribs. They will hide you from every angel in creation, including Lucifer." He glanced down at the baby in Dean's arms. "May I?"

Dean awkwardly extended baby Rob toward the angel.

Castiel peeled back the powder blue blanket that enveloped the baby and placed his open palm over the baby's heart. He stared at the infant for a moment, his eyes wide with fascination. "I am pleased to see that the child is safe," he said. He looked up at Dean. "That _all _of you are safe. Given the circumstances, I feared the worst." He turned away from Rob and his father and positioned his hand on Bobby's chest. "I was afraid someone would have gotten here before I could."

"Don't see how _that's _possible," Dean said. He carefully returned Rob to the crook of his arm.

"You do not understand," Castiel argued, moving to Sam. He placed a hand on his chest and marked him as well. "You will be hunted now more than ever. Both sides, Heaven and Hell, will be after you."

"Well, at least thanks to you, we've got a force-field around us now. That's great. Problem solved."

"Not in the least. You must take every precaution or the demons will find this boy, and Lucifer will twist him into what he wants. You cannot allow that to happen."

"How can Lucifer get to him if Lilith's death has to bust him out?" Dean asked. "She's got her own cage with sixty-six seals, remember? You're the one that put her in it."

"Yes. But once the demons figure out what has happened, those seals can be broken. And in time, we will be back where we began; one seal away from Lucifer's rising." Castiel heaved a sigh. "Azazel may be dead, but there are other demons willing to step up and take his place. And whoever that may be, they will be after Sam again, coaxing him to give his consent."

"So what do you expect us to do?" Dean asked. "Buy a house in some remote mountain village, homeschool Rob, and sit around wearing gas masks in the basement with the lights off, hoping nobody ever finds us?"

"That seems a wise option."

"No. No way," Dean argued. "That's not the way we roll. We don't run and hide." He glanced at his brother, his wife, his unofficially adoptive father for reinforcement. They shared the same looks of determination, and though they didn't speak, they didn't argue either.

"This is different," Castiel said. "We have not stopped the Apocalypse. Only delayed it. And in the process of it all, we have started a war of the likes no one has ever seen."

The group was quiet.

At last, Dean drew in a deep breath and looked at the others. "Well, then," he sighed, with a glimmer in his eye and the beginnings of a grin on his face, "I guess we've got work to do."


End file.
